Faith Over Logic
by bohemian-rhapsodi
Summary: In the aftermath of an incident on the Enterprise, Spock combs the galaxy for the truth, hoping that his faith in Jim Kirk outweighs the illogic of his desperate search. K/S Spork, multi-chapter fic, set after the movie. Reviews always appreciated!
1. Miracles

**Captain's Log:**

Hi, intrepid readers! I thought I'd try my hand at some Trekfic- specifically, the amazing K/S ship. This story is completely finished, so there's no possibility of this fic being abandoned. Hope you enjoy!

All thanks and praise to my Beta, Gryffens, for her excellent grasp of language- and her ability to ensure that my sentences actually make sense.

Disclaimer: Alas, Star Trek is the child of Roddenberry; unless I was a time travelling gender-bender, I could have no claim to it whatsoever. (in Trekverse, that might be a reasonable concept...)

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**CHAPTER 1: MIRACLES**

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_Spock: "Captain, you almost make me believe in luck."_

_Jim: "Why, Spock... you almost make me believe in miracles."_

_--A Taste of Armageddon, TOS_

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Even when taking into account the infinite complexities of space, Spock couldn't imagine a scenario more surreal than the one he found himself in. By its very nature, space was thriving with mystery, surprises, and even miracles. Spock was not one to believe implicitly in miracles, but that didn't stop contemplating their likelihood. They happened all too rarely in his own experience, he was beginning to find; although, with recent events, maybe the miracle element had been removed, and everything would be somehow dimmer.

He looked down at the flag draped coffin, a slight frown on his normally impassive face. It was hard to believe that this man could be brought down in such a manner... Nero couldn't do it, even when he encountered him twice; black holes and space anomalies couldn't do it; even the forces of gravity couldn't do it. To think that this was it... the bright future that the entire galaxy had predicted, shattered into oblivion by a freak set of circumstances. All which could have been avoided, if...

_If only..._

"We inter our friend, son and brother, Captain James Tiberius Kirk, into the earth..."

Regret was one of Spock's more human emotions- and one that he wished, beyond all else, he could suppress fully.

* * *

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

All in all, it was a quiet day on the_ USS Enterprise_. The Bridge was in its usual state of subdued mechanical humming, with only the occasional reassuring beep indicating continuing stability to break the near-silence. The minimum amount of staff was on deck for the shift, many of them merely sitting at their stations and talking quietly amongst themselves or doing menial work and updates on their consoles. Commander Spock, for one example, was trying to manage the sheer overload of paperwork that had backlogged over their two month deployment to the outer systems. Captain Kirk had certainly put a sizable dent in it, but it was left to the half-Vulcan to trawl through the fine-print, the kind of work that only required 10% of his brain but he was more than willing to complete to fulfil his duties and to keep himself occupied. His fingers moved deftly and precisely over the touchpad.

Spock was not adverse to the kind of tranquillity that reigned that day, but his excitable Captain was an entirely different story.

As soon as the silence became oppressive, Captain Kirk had retired to the gym in what was quickly becoming what Spock termed a 'fitness obsession'. When even Scotty had run out of things to rave to the Captain about, it was abundantly clear that this section of their voyage was an unusually quiet one.

As it was, they were between missions; they had carried out their guard duty to the colony vessels travelling to new agricultural planets, and were now essentially twiddling their thumbs until Starfleet designated an equally unchallenging mission. Spock wouldn't say that they were purposely stunting the capabilities of the _Enterprise_ by designating such menial tasks; rather, all had acknowledged that the fleet was seriously depleted. The ship and her crew couldn't always be glamorous and exciting.

Spock sat back in his chair, alert and ramrod straight, reflecting upon the past two months. Since the Nero incident, life had been abnormally quiet in comparison. A few skirmishes with unfriendly planet and vessels, a few diplomatic hiccups, but nothing that the _U.S.S Enterprise_ and her crew weren't completely capable of handling. Commander Spock had assured his Captain that they didn't want that kind of trouble anyway, but Kirk was stubborn in his wish for action, or at least, a measure of meaningful activity.

"Commander Spock, I'm receiving a transmission from Star Fleet Command." Uhura exclaimed suddenly, the news making everyone sit up a little straighter and start paying attention to their surroundings.

"Very well," Spock replied smoothly. "Sulu, contact the Captain and request his presence on the Bridge. Lieutenant Uhura, upload the transmission to my console."

"Yes sir." With a few flicks of her fingers, Spock was able to access the orders on his own screen, which he read with interest.

_USS Enterprise_

_As of the current Stardate at 1400 hours, your assignment is to investigate the status of cargo travelling between the Class 2 Federation planet of Darwyn and the colony of Ternius II. This investigation follows reports of missing crates of essential items and of a major smuggling operation exploiting the transference of such cargo. The entirety of the report and your expected conduct in the undertaking is enclosed._

_This mission requires no more than two weeks attention, with Report 23A to be submitted daily._

_Admiral Gercelli_

_Star Fleet Command_

The whoosh of the pneumatic doors leading to the Bridge hailed the return of the Captain just as Spock had finished scanning the document. Kirk was still shining from his physical exertions, but once again his irrepressible energy wasn't depleted in any way.

"So, Spock? I hear we have a destination." He flashed a contagious grin and clapped a hand on his Commander's shoulder, seeming to forget once again the 'no-touchy' policy. Although Spock wasn't quite as jumpy about contact anymore, it could still cause discomfort. In this case, however, it was almost reassuring, coming from the Captain.

He returned to the issue at hand. "Indeed, Captain." He motioned to the screen, and Jim leaned in closer to read them over Spock's shoulder. He remained that way for a minute, and Spock could hear his steady breathing just over his shoulder.

"Interesting," He said finally. "Bring up the attachments..."

They discussed the nature of the mission for a few minutes before letting Chekov announce their intentions to the crew. It seemed that a notorious smuggling syndicate, known as the Red Bandits, was active once again. The Federation hired commercial ships to move supplies to the outer colonies, but an inspection upon one of the ships revealed inconsistencies in the books; there were several crates of civilian, government and military supplies missing and unaccounted for. Upon further probing, the practice was revealed to be widespread and quite organised. It was assumed that the Bandits then sold the goods to non-Federation planets for highly inflated prices, in what was undoubtedly a very lucrative exchange. In contrast, the victims often went months without vital food or medicine because of the Bandit's greed.

"The Red Bandits... I am familiar with their record," Spock mused. "They are infamous for their violence and guerrilla tactics."

"Sounds like our kind of enemy," Jim said, in all seriousness. "Let's go get 'em."

"And where would that be, Captain? The whereabouts of the Bandits is unknown." Spock pointed out.

Jim leaned back against the wall with a slight smile on his boyish face. No, not _boyish_... he had matured since their first meeting, actually wearing his age well. "I bet we can find out."

"Bet how much?" Sulu interjected.

"Gambling is not-" Spock began, but Jim quickly interrupted his undoubtedly moralistic and protocol-quoting lecture.

"Set a course for Ternius II. We'll speak to the crew ourselves, sniff out the rat, and trace it from there." He smirked. "Acquiring information sounds like fun." With that, he adjourned to his chair, Spock recognising the fond glance that he gave it before sitting.

Was there really _nothing_ that could repress that man's spirit? Spock wondered about his Captain's puzzling character often, finding him extremely difficult to read at the best of times. He seemed almost childish in some aspects, but was a fully capable Captain of a sizable crew and an extremely decisive individual. Spock realised early on in their partnership that he had underestimated James Tiberius Kirk, since their first encounter with the Kobayashi Maru scandal and onwards to the final moments of the Nero Incident. He had resolved to tread carefully from that moment on, and try to understand Kirk in his entirety. Spock was analytical by nature, but Kirk seemed to be too unpredictable and complex to unravel the enigma of his character. He was, by far, the most intriguing human he had ever come across in his career. Applying logic to understand emotions was not always effective, as Spock was becoming to comprehend; he would have to apply both his Vulcan sensibilities and his human intuition- a partnership that he found both uncomfortable and seemingly flawed.

In any case, these ruminations were to be kept to himself, and his thoughts were never inquired into by any member of the crew. He was content to observe, record, and hopefully, understand.

* * *

"I'm warning you, Mr. Derrida, for the last time... remember our agreement?" Kirk was strangely firm and authoritative as he stared into the eyes of the cringing crewman. They had arrived at the colony, commandeered the latest vessel to arrive, and culled the crew members down into the few that could have conceivably helped the Bandits seize the cargo. Captain Kirk had been very... persuasive... in his methods, whatever they were. Spock did not enquire, and he made sure he was elsewhere whilst the Captain turned his talents onto the unfortunate crewmen.

After leaving the Captain with Mr. Derrida for a few minutes, Spock, Bones and Sulu arrived to see Kirk in action.

"N-no, don't!" The man shrieked as they arrived, his eyes popping and his mop of dark red hair sticking to his forehead in a sudden moment of panic. "I'll tell you!"

"I don't really want to know what Kirk said to him, do you?" Bones murmured to Sulu in a tone of amusement from behind Spock. The room was barely big enough for five people, being a rusty and cramped brig on the transport ship, and the crewmember seemed to shrink in the presence of so many Starfleet officers.

"I don't have any big contacts, just... just the one. Old Harry, in the Abraca Quarter- he got the cargo in his shuttle when we docked. Please, don't... don't..."

To Spock surprise, the man looked straight at him, and he could sense the palpable panic coming off the man in waves as he gaped like a fish out of water. One didn't need to be a telepath to know that he was mortally afraid.

"Not... dear God, he'll take it all!" He shielded his head for reasons that Spock couldn't fathom, but it seemed that he was inherently afraid of his half-Vulcan appearance... fascinating.

"I believe we have enough, Mr. Derrida... now, we'll leave you in the capable hands of the Law Enforcement- who, thankfully, hold better company than I." Kirk smiled in a patronising way, and made his way out of the brig with a slight sideways glance at Spock. The other three followed him out, Sulu staying back to ensure that the local Police were apprised of the situation.

The planet's Capital was a dusty city, relatively new in terms of technology but ramshackle in construction. The streets were narrow and prone to sudden irrational changes in direction, and Spock had to rely on his tricorder relaying directions from the ship for the navigation to direct them to the Abraca Quarter of the city. There was the smell of exotic spices in the air, and the heat was almost perfect for Spock's own physiology. Despite the environment, Spock remained on high alert. Jim tended to attract trouble, so he watched his Captain closely and carefully.

The citizens stared at them openly as they walked down the streets, their clean-cut uniforms making their identities abundantly obvious. Even the hawkers of questionable goods blanched at their approach, and didn't offer them any wares whatsoever. Kirk seemed to be lapping up the attention.

"I love my job," He sighed, but he soon returned to the right mindset for their business. "Commander Spock, when we get to Abraca- Bones, what are you doing here anyway?" He looked at the Doctor as though he only just realised his presence. "I thought I gave you medical logs to complete."

McCoy winced. "I wondered when you'd realise," He said dryly. "I'll just return to the ship, then?"

"Yep. Never shirk from duty, Bones- even the most unpleasant and, quite frankly, mind-numbingly boring ones. We should be back in a few hours, and tell Scotty to keep her in one piece."

As it turned out, their visit to the Abraca Quarter was shorter than expected. Old Harry was shrewd enough to realise that there was no escape for himself, and that resistance would be undoubtedly painful, so he sold out the smugglers soon enough. He directed them to a nearby planet, abandoned since a global war some years previous. Of course, he was still arrested, but he went quietly enough.

"See, Spock? All it took was a little persuasion and an understanding of the criminal mind." Kirk said as they were making their way back.

"Captain, I have one inquiry... how did you convince Mr. Derrida to cooperate?"

Kirk's smile only grew. "There are many rumours about Vulcans, Spock- I merely exploited that fact and assured him that treating with _me_ would be much preferable to _you_."

_Not... dear God, he'll take it all!_...

"He assumed I would forcibly extract the information from his mind," Spock quickly realised. "That was underhanded, Captain, but it undoubtedly gave us the required information."

"Thanks, I guess," He paused for a moment. "And call me Jim; being addressed as 'Captain' all the time grates on my nerves, coming from a line of humble farmers and all. Iowa isn't big on decorum, and even Starfleet couldn't take that out of me."

It was a direct order, but Spock would have responded to a request with equal willingness. "Very well... Jim."

It was dusk by the time they arrived back at the ship, the sun setting quickly on the alien planet. The twin moons provided enough light for them to walk by, washing out the colours and deepening the shadows as the two companions walked together in silence.

* * *

There was an impromptu meeting in the Recreation Room that evening, for all the senior officers and heads of department not on duty. Jim took his customary place at the front of the room, jumping up onto his chair in a most dangerous manner in order to address the assembled crew. From Spock's position, Jim seemed untouchable, standing proud against the backlight and surveying his crew with a keen and careful eye. In a clear voice, Jim summarised his findings for them, and they all agreed that visiting the planet that Old Harry mentioned, Zersaal, would be logical.

Business finished, Sulu and Chekov engaged in a spirited game of darts, Uhura discussed the finer points of alien language and linguistics with an enraptured technician, and Jim teased Bones about whatever was on his mind. It was at times like this that Spock would usually retire, but he didn't that night. He found that, in observing their behaviour, certain facts came to light.

Chekov was left handed, at least at certain sports.

Jim was allergic to many foods.

Bones was unsympathetic of this fact.

Uhura was interested in Ikkir poetry.

Uhura... they had parted ways amicably a few weeks ago, and she seemed to be holding up well. Spock himself knew that it had been wrong to continue their relationship when he was unsure of his affections, and she had understood completely. They remained friends, and she had, so far, been the only human on the ship to try and connect with him in any meaningful sense. That, in part, was one of the issues; he was unsure how to act under her interest. Although he knew her inquiries were merely friendly and expressed in a genuine wish to know more about him, Spock found that he didn't have all the answers. He was entirely unsure of himself since the destruction of Vulcan, and it unsettled him to no end. Uhura had reminded him that he was isolated from most beings in the galaxy, and that wasn't an easy burden to share. She had understood his need, and gracefully gave him the space he needed. He was grateful for her attentiveness and friendship, which was rare on the _Enterprise_.

The one he had forged with Jim was similar in some respects, but entirely different in others. Thy had developed a rather strange relationship; apart from their usual roles as Captain and First Officer, Jim often talked to him on a friendly level, in a manner that he addressed people like Dr. McCoy and Admiral Pike. Spock was surprised to find that Jim often sought out his companionship, and his opinion, when it was often wildly different from Jim's own. It was as though he was deliberately inciting debate, trying to find holes in Spock's arguments in such a manner that he found it difficult to ascertain Jim's purpose. It was on every subject imaginable; Starfleet, alien races and relations, human and Vulcan nature, the mission at hand, anything that inflamed his imagination at that moment. It was not often that his own points remained valid at the end of their discussions, but he did have his moments. Spock found that he was beginning to enjoy the stimulation this provided; his ideas were fresh, unlike those of 'learned' Vulcans and Starfleet gurus, and he could relate to them with ease. In the end, being correct wasn't the only benefit of their discussions- they slowly discovered more about each other's ethics and perspectives, which varied enormously.

Yes, the Captain had certainly risen to the expectations of his First Officer, and looked set to challenge them again at every opportunity.

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**Have an opinion, something to say?**

**Feel free to review, it makes my day!**


	2. Retreat

**Captain's Log: Thanks for the reviews! I've had some concerns that this is merely a death fic... let me assure you, I wouldn't kill off Kirk so easily!**

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**CHAPTER 2: RETREAT**

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_Spock: "I have a responsibility... to this ship, to that man on the Bridge. I am what I am, Layla... And if there are self made purgatories... then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's."_

_--This Side of Paradise, TOS_

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Zersaal was two days away at Warp Speed, and for a change the ship was a hive of activity in preparation for their investigation of the planet and (hopefully) the arrest of the smugglers. They had taken in a platoon of Federation soldiers on the colony planet, who were more than willing to be relieved from their rather boring patrol and sentry posts and join the _Enterprise_ on their mission. The leader of the 40 men, First Lieutenant McIntyre, seemed more than willing to keep him men under control in their guest quarters, with their own times for meals and recreation. Captain Kirk agreed that it was easier that way, and so it was that the crew had very little contact with the new shipmates.

On the first night of their voyage, Jim called Spock to his cabin, for reasons unknown to Spock until Jim greeted him.

"Spock, come lend me your impeccable logic... we need a strategy from the invasion," He was sitting on a battered looking chair at his desk, covered in papers and discarded pens. The rest of his room, however, was surprisingly tidy; everything seemed to have its place, and it wasn't at all cluttered.

Spock nodded. "Certainly, Captain."

"Jim, Spock. Just Jim."

"Certainly... Jim."

Why was he so insistent on that small nicety? What difference did it really make? His mind provided the answer: it is a human sign of friendship. That word alone carried volumes of meaning and layers that Spock was not prepared to examine at that moment.

They spent only ten minutes on the plan before it resembled a workable outline; they couldn't know more until they arrived at the planet. Jim relaxed and his mind began to wander, holding a glass of alcohol in one hand and fiddling with a regulation pen in the other. Spock recognised from his posture that Jim was pensive and another discussion was coming, so he settled his thoughts and focussed.

"The climate on this planet... it's similar to what Vulcan was, isn't it?"

"Yes, it has some similarities. Temperature, seismic structure, flora and fauna. However, the recent devastation has changed the nature of the atmosphere and created a toxic soil," He paused. "For these reasons, it was excluded as the Vulcan settlement planet. Otherwise, it would have been ideal."

Jim nodded. "How is it that almost every civilisation is determined to destroy themselves? Earth has always been on the brink..." Jim's alcoholic drink which Spock couldn't immediately identify was making him rather maudlin.

"It is not inherent, but it does seem to occur with startling regularity. Humanity, however, retreated from that brink in favour of their more redeeming qualities." He recalled from his study of Earth's history how often they flirted with death, only to choose life. They had even taken less time than the pre-Sarek Vulcans to come to their senses.

"We're imperfect," Jim admitted. "Even..." He paused for moment before changing tack. "Do you think I'm a good captain, Spock?" he said suddenly.

Spock didn't show his surprise openly, but he was slower than usual to answer, deciding to employ tact along with truth. "Yes, I do. No one could doubt your handing of the Narada situation, or your subsequent successes."

"That's the official opinion, Spock- what's yours? And be honest- I know that Vulcans can lie if they so choose."

He looked his captain in the eyes, level and steady. He knew what he was about to say was his absolute conviction, so he tried to infuse his voice with the confidence it deserved. "At first, I was reluctant to follow the popular opinion of your competency, but upon further inspection, I found myself to be at fault."

That statement alone caused Jim to stop leaning back on his chair, and the legs came back to ground with a muffled thump.

"You were wrong?" He blurted, flushing slightly at the bluntness of his question.

"Exceedingly so," Spock admitted. "Despite your... quirks, you have more than proven your worth as captain."

"Well, erm... thanks," Jim seemed surprised by his answer, and he shook it off with some difficulty. "Thank you for your input, Spock... I'll discuss the strategy with the Lieutenant in the morning to see if he has any input."

Spock realised that it was, in fact, quite late by Terran standards. "I apologise, Jim. I have interrupted your leisure time."

"I called you here, Spock... and I need a way to fill the night, otherwise it's rather dull," His wry humour was returning as he grinned.

"Sleep is usually a remedy for that." Spock pointed out.

"I don't sleep on weekends," Was his perplexing and slightly troubling answer.

* * *

Chekov reported that their ETA was 2200 hours the next day, but they would remain undetected out of range of the planet until the morning of the day after that. Kirk was engaged in discussions with the army Lieutenant, and their general strategy was planned out with ease. There was an air of optimism to the ship that Spock had somehow missed on their duller missions; they had a meaningful purpose again, and the ship thrummed with activity. You would think that everyone had arrived back from shore leave, they were so energetic.

Jim himself was unceasing in his enthusiasm. He seemed to be everywhere at once; talking to the crew, visiting the infirmary and Scotty's engine room, greeting the soldiers and running their preparation from the Bridge. Spock realised that he thrived off this kind of excitement, the pressure forcing his achievements. He was born to be a Captain, it was certain.

Spock filled out their progress report for the day, and presented it to Jim after their working hours, just before they were expected to arrive in Zersaal's system. Although there was little to report, it was wise to keep Starfleet informed and happy so as to avoid intervention from a more experienced crew.

"Thanks, Spock... I forgot about that," Jim admitted with a wince. "There's just so much to do."

"You seem to be overworking yourself, Jim." Spock began, but he was interrupted by a groan.

"I don't enough of that from Bones already?"

"It is a legitimate concern." Spock said defensively. There was a limit to efficient work when rest periods were infrequent, it was a simple fact- of which the Captain was well aware.

"Of course it is, but everyone seems to feel the need to coddle me."

"Not so, Jim. We are only concerned for your wellbeing, for in the event of your incapacitation, the ship would be severely disadvantaged."

"Of course," Jim snorted. "You need to tuck me in, all for the good of the Federation."

"Something like that." Spock answered, wondering at his slightly relaxed speech. Jim really brought out his half-human side sometimes. He admitted to himself that he was genuinely concerned over Jim's busy schedule and the effects that it may have- for the simple reason that Jim was important to him.

"Why did you join Starfleet, Spock?" Jim asked with a genuine tone of curiosity. "I don't meant to be intrusive, but it's highly unusual, as I understand it."

Spock took a few seconds to formulate his answer. "It is, Jim... but it seemed the correct path to take. I was offered other more prestigious positions, particularly at the Vulcan Science Academy, but I foresaw that my mixed heritage would be a curse in such an institution. They made that abundantly clear to me." He remembered the scene in crystal clear detail, along with the customary stab of injury when they mentioned his mother offhandedly as a mere 'disadvantage'.

"They would say that to your _face_?" Jim said incredulously. "Bastards."

"That was not my precise reaction, but I do confess something similar went through my own mind," Spock admitted. "Starfleet was the desirable alternative, as it enabled me to leave Vulcan." Leave Vulcan... leave behind one set of social expectations, in preference for another less familiar code and further alienation. He still wasn't sure whether either path offered companionship or understanding- but he was trying in any case.

"My reasons are similar to yours, in some ways... small town nobody, repeat offender and notorious troublemaker- not exactly employable qualities, no matter my aptitude results. There was nothing left to keep me there when Pike offered a place here."

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before Jim spoke again. "I'm worried, Spock. This is one of the first planned confrontations of this ship, of this crew; it's harder to face when you know that it's coming."

That explained his actions; he was trying to cover all the bases and ensure that the mission was a success. "We are prepared, Jim." Spock reassured him quietly.

"I hope so, Spock... I hope so."

Spock knew that it was a very human experience to feel dread; it was their inherent fear of the future and what it may hold, in the face of danger and possible death. A human emotion- so it wasn't what he felt when he returned to his bunk that night. It wasn't trepidation, or nervousness, or foreboding. It was impossible, and to be quickly forgotten.

* * *

0813 HOURS

_The scene was one of pandemonium. Soldiers rushed across the decks, carrying their injured comrades, and the shouts and groans of those returned from the ground assault were truly terrifying to hear. No one had taken stock of the casualties, but Spock could project that it wouldn't be good._

_One figure stood erect and tense in the chaos, emanating a cloud of icy menace and resolve._

"_Chekov, where's the Captain?" He rasped, struggling to project as he moved toward the consoles._

"_I beamed up every signal, Spock- there's no one else on that planet!" He cried. "I'll check his individual-" His eyes widened as he pulled up the vitals on Kirk._

"_...there's nothing. No location, no health readings... nothing."_

_Uhura stood beside Chekov's station, speechless as she saw the data._

"_Get me down there." Spock ordered._

"_I...can't beam you down... they detonated the device. I can't take you back."_

"_What do you mean, can't take us back?" Spock demanded of Chekov, who was close to tears._

"_Ze... radiation. It will kill you. All of you, just wait for it to-"_

"_Beam me down. That's a direct order."_

"_Comm-"_

"_Now."_

_It was most likely too late... but he would attempt it, nonetheless._

_That's what friends do._

* * *

EARLIER

0750

The _Enterprise_ had emerged, glorious to behold in all its technology and grace, from Warp and into the space surrounding Zersaal, a relatively small planet that was almost dwarfed by the multitude of moons and larger satellite rocks around it. In its own time standards, it was barely morning, with just enough light to see by coming from the far-off waning sun.

The ground assault team was ready, armed with a myriad of useful devices and the latest in technology. Starfleet had allowed almost absolute power to catch or destroy the Bandits and their cargo, and they had taken the lack of limitations to heart in their preparations.

From their informant's description, there was a sizable area of uninhabitable land after the near-apocalypse that had taken place there, but safe places could be found; moving outside those zones would incur a slow death from old-style radiation poisoning. They had limited defences and less than two dozen Red Bandit members on the ground at any one time, as far as Old Harry knew.

That was their information, as Kirk explained succinctly to the departing crew; they were first to verify that from a stealth shuttle, then move in on their transport shuttle and through beaming down to take the base. They wanted the goods intact, for the most part; some essential items such as medical supplies were in extreme shortage. The Bandits were on a shoot-to-kill basis, the Federation thoroughly disgusted by their ability to spring up again and again. Forty soldiers from the platoon were going down under Lieutenant McIntyre, plus ten _Enterprise_ personnel under Kirk, Spock and Sulu. Kirk had been adamant from the beginning that he would participate, and no one dared to argue the point- except for Bones, many suspected, which would explain the coldness of their parting in the corridor earlier that day.

The initial stages went according to plan; the stealth shuttle scanned the site, confirmed the number of Bandits (with some ambiguity from radiation flares), and the transport flew in undetected. There was some considerable interference from the toxic planet, but hopefully not enough to seriously hamper the operation. If they stayed within the set area, radiation damage was insignificant. The soldiers spread out along the perimeter, ready to crash through the massive double doors of the rusty industrial complex.

Then it started to go very, very wrong.

* * *

"Captain, when is our backup arriving?" Sulu shouted, even as he dived away from a laser blast. "We can't hold here, and they've blocked the retreat!"

Kirk was looking worse for wear, but still sharp. "I've called for them, they're being beamed down now! They're going to open an exit to the south, so pull our men away from the wall!"

"Yessir!"

Spock assessed the situation once again. They were pinned down just inside the doors, which had been sealed by a magnate lock that the Lieutenant was working on frantically to open, but to no avail. They had taken cover behind whatever crates they could drag there in time, and there was definitely more Bandits than they had anticipated. Spock guessed that any form of solid basement, left from the past disasters on the planet, could have muffled their presence until it was too late. They were disastrously outnumbered.

He could already see several crewmembers injured behind their front line. With liquid precision, he continued to fire off shots into the enemy quarter, calculating each trajectory and each chance of success with every successive squeeze of the phaser's trigger.

"Chekov's reporting some difficulty with locking onto our signals!" Jim called to Spock. "We need to get out of the warehouse before we can evacuate every-"

What appeared to be a small grenade bore down on the Captain, and he was barely able to leap from behind his cover, which exploded instantly in an angry yellow fireball, and join Spock with a few soldiers behind his barricade. The heat from the blast singed some hair from the back of Jim's head, but he didn't seem to notice, or care. He was entirely in battle mode.

"We can't take it from the ground, Captain," Spock said firmly, taking advantage of a lull in the sounds of fighting. "We can order an airstrike; we lose the cargo, but no more men."

Jim nodded immediately, no argument for that piece of logic. He looked straight at Spock, and he could see that the half-Vulcan was just as reluctant to admit that near-defeat as he was. In the silent and solemn glances they gave each other, they knew it had to be done.

Lieutenant McIntyre sent a phaser-beam scorched Private running to them. "We've cracked it!" He gasped, just as the heavy doors began to slide away, under the combined mechanical prowess and the brute force of their men.

"Pull back!" Jim ordered through their comms in full voice. "Back up team, cover our retreat! Initial force to the transport; all others, wait for Chekov and his team to beam you up! Injured men first!"

Spock waited with Jim to the last, continuing to blast at the Bandits with a ferocity that surprised him; combat had never been a preference of his, despite his physical aptitude for warfare. Even when he felt searing, hot pain shoot through his right arm, he merely switched to his left without looking at the damage and kept going.

Spock could see who he assumed to be their leader; a tall, bulky man with greasy dreadlocks and a foul temper. He was out of range of their phasers, and seemed to know it, from the way he boasted.

"We have nukes, and we'll use them before any of you Federation _scum_ get your hands on our goods!" He boomed across the space, his cronies shouting in a frenzy agreement.

"Do you think that's true?" Jim asked Spock incredulously. "I mean, how old could their weapons be, and still be operational?"

Spock was still watching the leader, who brought out an ancient remote detonator that was all too familiar to his trained eyes. "That is a fully operational nuclear detonation device, Captain. I do believe he's serious."

"Holy-" He shook himself. "How's the evac going?"

Sulu updated him on his communicator, "All men accounted for, save five men outside the warehouse and you two inside! Chekov's trying to clear the pads, but it's pandemonium up here."

"Get them out first, we'll stall them!" Jim replied with grim determination. Sulu was about to object, but Jim ignored him. Spock also sent him a disapproving look, but Jim pretended to not see it. He could probably guess what it looked like anyway- he'd seen it enough times to have it etched onto his memory. A disapproving Spock was a familiar sight.

The leader was now wagging his finger over the button in a teasing manner; Spock could see that he was quite obviously a low-level insanity case, from the maniacal grin on his face and his wide, crazed eyes.

"If you're not all out in _ten seconds_, I'm taking you down with me!" He screamed.

"Go now, Spock!" Jim shouted above the din. "They're almost clear!" He was now crouched behind a drum to the left of Spock, who was several metres away; they had continued to take fire throughout the talks.

"You first, Captain!" Spock demanded. A First Officer the crew could do without- but Jim was irreplaceable.

Jim looked angry for a moment, as though Spock had just asked him to do the impossible. "Just _go_, you stubborn-"

An incredible explosion knocked them both off their feet, and Spock was thrown against the wall of the warehouse from its force. He put a sizable dent in the thick metal, but he didn't feel his own pain after what he saw happen to the Captain.

The drum had exploded, full of some extremely flammable and toxic chemical; Spock watched in agonisingly slow detail as Jim was launched, flying through the smoke of the scene, and smashing out through the glass of a high window.

"Jim!" Spock bellowed, but he was quickly out of sight.

He wheezed from the effort, winded from the force of the explosion and his impact on the wall. Noting that it had created an even thicker plume of smoke, he struggled across the blind void towards the doors using his spatial memory, and collapsed outside the building as he struggled to get oxygen through his windpipe.

"Chekov, get... get Jim..." He tried to croak, but he couldn't even understand himself. Clinically, he noted that the noxious smoke had seared his throat with harsh burns, but he tried again anyway, ignoring the fiery sensation. "He's... north-east... get a lock on..."

"Hang on, Spock, we've got you!" He heard the young Russian say, and he could feel the first signs of beaming.

"The... Cap... Jim..."

"You're almost-"

"_No..._" He tried to drag himself to his feet, move away and get the Captain himself... the wisps of the transport beam became stronger, thicker, grabbing him from every side.

"There!"

Spock felt the cold of the Enterprise's sterile air wash over him as he lay, gasping, on the deck. Several people came rushing over, but he pushed them away and stood to his full height, trying to remain collected.

The scene was one of pandemonium. Soldiers rushed across the decks, carrying their injured comrades, and the shouts and groans of those returned from the ground assault were truly terrifying to hear. No one had taken stock of the casualties, but Spock could project that it wouldn't be good.

One figure stood erect and tense in the chaos, emanating a cloud of icy menace and resolve.

"Chekov, where's the Captain?" He rasped, struggling to project as he moved toward the consoles.

"I beamed up every signal, Spock- there's no one else on that planet!" He cried. "I'll check his individual-" His eyes widened as he pulled up the vitals on Kirk.

"...there's nothing. No location, no health readings... nothing."

Uhura stood beside Chekov's station, speechless as she saw the data.

"Get me down there." Spock ordered.

"I...can't beam you down... they detonated the device. I can't take you back."

"What do you mean, can't take us back?" Spock demanded of Chekov, who was close to tears.

"Ze... radiation. It will kill you. All of you, just wait for it to-"

"Beam me down. That's a direct order."

"Comm-"

"Now."

It was most likely too late... but he would attempt it, nonetheless.

That's what friends do.

"We can't let you do that, Spock." Uhura whispered. Her face was also filled with sadness, but she remained practical. "It's suicide. Do you really want to lose your own life in search of Jim? Would he _want_ that from you?"

Spock felt an icy calm wash over him as he contemplated her words. That _wasn't_ what he would have wanted- he suddenly refused to think of Jim in past tense. Of course he was alive; of course he had gotten out. He would continue his duties- find the Captain, save the majority of his crew, and destroy the Bandits. Nothing more to it- or at least he tried to convince himself.

He cleared his throat. "Call all decks, all stations. Be on the alert for the Captain, report anything they may have." Uhura rushed into action, grateful for his change of mind, commandeering a communicator from a passing ensign to pass it on. "Chekov, check again- use every trick you have."

"He could have come up in the last few batches, I'd have to-"

"-A suit malfunction, or maybe just-"

Spock was now standing at his full height, and the chatter of the men around him seemed to fade into background static, ringing hollow in his ears. Without warning, he launched into full flight, ignoring the shouts from Uhura and the others, powering through the familiar corridors to the Bridge to assess the situation from up there, and try to locate Jim himself.

They couldn't abandon their position until the Captain was found, that much was certain. Spock was the last person to see him alive, and it was almost impossible to get aboard the Enterprise in the time that he would have needed to without beaming up.

Jim had surprised them all before, but there were very few options this time. Either he was _not_ fine, and his readings were correct in displaying a flat line; or he was somehow miraculously fine, on the ship, and laughing somewhere about their panic over his absence- which seemed the more unlikely of the two scenarios.

The very fact that he hadn't taken charge was an indication that he was still on the planet's surface, without communication or the ability to communicate.

He had just reached the Bridge when the full report came through.

"Fully detonated, one-mile blast zone, and at least five miles of fatal radiation."

Spock immediately took charge from the deck, from where Sulu had held the fort. "Any danger to the ship?"

"Negative, sir. They didn't launch anything at us at all, just the bomb on the ground." One man said from his station.

"Stay on alert, Ensign; they may have a backup system which allows for retribution in the case of defeat. Also alert Engine Room to the possibility of requiring evasive manoeuvres." Spock tried to issue the order normally, but his voice made it difficult to keep up appearances. Maybe the blood covering his sleeve and the extensive bruising showing through the rips on his uniform gave it away as well. Uhura had returned, and a slight shake of her head indicated no leads on the Captain. Spock carefully kept his mind elsewhere.

Spock called down to medical. "Dr. McCoy, situation?"

"No fatalities yet, some are close," was his blunt and exasperated answer. "Mostly soldiers, a few others."

"Keep me updated," He requested shortly. He moved towards the graceful woman. "Uhura, I request that-"

"Spock, you need to take command," She said softly. "We don't know what happened to the Captain, and until we do, someone needs to be in charge."

Spock sorely wanted to refute her logic. He wanted her to be wrong, and play his intellect as his highest asset in refusing to accept that argument. But he knew it to be right.

Whatever happened down there, Jim wasn't coming back anytime soon.

* * *

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	3. Hope

**Captain's Log: Thanks for the reviews! Here's your reward :)**

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**CHAPTER 3: HOPE**

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_Jim: "She really liked those ears?"_

_Spock: "She is a remarkably intelligent and sensitive creature, with impeccable taste."_

_--The Devil in the Dark, TOS_

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**

Jim lay on the rough ground outside the warehouse, trying to remain conscious through the searing pain of the explosion's damage. He could feel the burns across his chest, and the way that his leg twisted unnaturally under him. Trying to move would cause a black-out, he knew; his body wouldn't take the pressure so soon. All he could hear in his earpiece was static, and he even struggled to reach up and adjust it, to no avail.

Gritting his teeth, he fought through the pain and propped himself up. He was on instant alert when he saw movement to his left, and reached for his phaser- only to find that he had dropped it somewhere inside. The movement was from a Bandit, instantly recognisable by his red and black armband. He was a scrawny man, small-featured with sparse ginger hair and a mean grin on his scarred face.

"You're comin' with me, _Captain_." He spat, obvious distaste and scorn in his tone. He raised a dart-gun and shot Jim in the arm with the hypodermic.

"Shit." He managed to grind out, before he couldn't think anymore.

* * *

"Attention, _Enterprise_... Captain Kirk is missing in action. As per Starfleet regulation, Commander Spock is hereby promoted to Acting Captain. Every effort is being made to locate the Captain... if you have any information, report to the Bridge immediately. All section report readiness and casualties. Thankyou, Bridge out." Chekov had never sounded more miserable in his life, and he wasn't the only one. The whole ship seemed to be in a fit of shock and depression at the news, Spock included- although he hid it better than most.

Scotty calculated that the blast site could be visited in relative safety for ten minute intervals with heavy radiation suits within a matter of days. It was way too long to expect any results from exploring the surface, but the Enterprise lived in hope.

Bones reported two deaths- Privates Kosko and Ramirez were remembered by a minute's silence in that long day, the one that would be forever ingrained on the memories of all involved.

His performance on the Bridge, although admirable, had begun to flag after loss of blood and pure exhaustion, prompting Uhura to forcibly propel him in the direction of the medical bay. By her prodding and by general consensus, Spock was forced to get patched up and have at least a few hours respite. Bones, for once, had nothing to say against the Vulcan; he was courteous in his treatment of Spock's injuries and was quieter than usual- which was not unexpected, considering the deaths of two of his patients and the unknown fate of his best friend.

Spock didn't know what to do when he reached his quarters. He tried meditating, but after a few minutes of forced calm he reluctantly acknowledged that the level of tranquillity required was simply impossible in his present state. That should make meditation even more crucial to achieve, but he found he no longer had the motivation. He settled for a state of near-agitation.

He ran over the events again and again in his head; the moment that Jim was blown from his eyesight, the events leading up to it, the unrelenting selflessness of his words and actions.

He calculated Jim's chance of survival from the initial explosion.

He calculated Jim's chance of survival from the nuclear bomb.

He calculated Jim's chance of survival from the nuclear fallout.

None of them were encouraging.

He sat perfectly still on the edge of his bunk, knowing that he should be exhausted but refusing to waste a moment. He owed Jim that much. His eyelids flickered closed as he mulled over the facts, effectively focussing all his energy on the task. After an hour of this, he faced certain truths.

Jim had a 0.003% chance of survival under the current circumstances.

Even if he did survive, he would not do so for the three days they needed to wait for in order to visit the planet safely.

Spock opened his eyes slowly, and began to prepare himself for what now seemed inevitable. It was unlikely that he would ever see Jim again.

* * *

_Even when taking into account the infinite complexities of space, Spock couldn't imagine a scenario more surreal than the one he found himself in. By its very nature, space was thriving with mystery, surprises, and even miracles. Spock was not one to believe implicitly in miracles, but that didn't stop contemplating their likelihood. They happened all too rarely in his own experience, he was beginning to find; although, with recent events, maybe the miracle element had been removed, and everything would be somehow dimmer._

_He looked down at the flag draped coffin, a slight frown on his normally impassive face. It was hard to believe that this man could be brought down in such a manner... Nero couldn't do it, even when he encountered him twice; black holes and space anomalies couldn't do it; even the forces of gravity couldn't do it. To think that this was it... the bright future that the entire galaxy had predicted, shattered into oblivion by a freak set of circumstances. All which could have been avoided, if..._

_If only..._

"_We inter our friend, son and brother, Captain James Tiberius Kirk, into the earth..."_

_Regret was one of Spock's more human emotions- and one that he wished, beyond all else, he could suppress fully._

He watched with unease as a Starfleet official made his formal eulogy. Exemplary example, youngest captain, and the saviour of humanity... it all seemed so impersonal, the kind of speech that would have Jim falling asleep half-way through, until Spock prodded him gently in the ribs. It finished eventually, to absolute silence, and the old man sat back down. Spock realised that, although it wasn't the man's fault that he probably didn't even know Jim, and it was merely a formality, it disrespected Jim's true memory. The circumstances made Spock clench his teeth slightly.

Dr. McCoy came forward to say a few words, and he did so with some difficulty. Jim's death had hit him hard; he had argued with him minutes before he left, so there was an added element of guilt and an inability to get closure. On top of that, the doctor's enemy is death- and it came so swiftly, and struck so close, that Bones was left numb and unable to comprehend the loss.

"Jim had always seemed to be one of those men that were Gods to mere mortals. Nothing could keep him down, not even criticism or outright hatred. He was his own man, and I couldn't have been gladder to be his friend," He swallowed to keep back the tears. "He was like a brother to me, and many others on his ship. We were a family... a dysfunctional one, to be sure, but we all knew our place, and that Jim would keep all the children in line," He smiled sadly. "He was by no means perfect, but I think it was his flaws that drove him to bettering himself, seeking new horizons. We were all proud of him, and I think he was proud of himself, and what he had accomplished. He always had that potential- to lead, to love, to laugh... and we couldn't have done it without him." There were tears on his cheeks now. "Now he's joined the stars he loved so much... goodbye, Jim. The world is a sadder place without you." He left the podium under the weight of his emotion, and several hands stretched out to help him back to his seat and grasp his shoulders in gratitude and shared suffering.

Spock was glad to hear Bones' speech; it was exactly the kind that Jim would have wanted, straight from the heart. He didn't know if he would have had the same courage as Bones, if their situations were reversed. Then again, the emotional outpouring in that speech was beyond what Spock ever expected to be able to express. He was inherently Vulcan, and such forwardness was unnatural.

The ceremony over, the crowd dispersed. This was the private gathering, as opposed to the massive public grief that had resulted from the news. Spock could see Jim's mother, dressed in mourning clothes, looking like a slight breeze could have blown her over and supported by a man that Spock could only assume was Jim's brother, Sam. The resemblance was slight, but he still felt a deep sadness when he saw the man's near-familiar profile. To lose a husband and a son, a father and a brother, to Starfleet... it was the worst scenario possible.

He approached the two Kirks, not entirely sure what to say even as he walked. They saw him coming, and the woman motioned for her son to stop.

"You must be Spock," She said, her voice melodious and sad. "Jim told us a lot about you."

"He was the best Captain I could have wished for," He replied honestly. "I grieve with thee, and I will miss him."

She nodded. "He said the same about you... he always seemed to see the light in everyone," Spock could see her eyes welling up with tears, and her son squeezed her shoulder. She continued after she had collected herself. "Do him proud, Spock. Don't give up."

They had moved away before Spock could answer, but he knew that he didn't need to. Humans were very perceptive of emotions, even when Spock did his best to hide them; she knew that he would continue his work, and never forget what Jim had given.

* * *

The whole crew was granted four weeks leave; it was the end of their mission, plus a time to grieve and regroup. They dispersed quickly, needing to deal with the loss in their own way. Maybe Jim's intimacy with every level of crew member and every decent human being he encountered was now coming back on Starfleet; absolutely everyone was in mourning.

Spock found that he had no direction or plans, and no drive to make any. Scotty was staying with the ship for a few days before going home, but other than the eccentric engineer, the ship was deserted.

The idea eventually came to him, and grew quickly in his mind as he considered it; he would visit the new Vulcan colony. His father had long desired his presence, most probably hoping that Spock would settle and rebuild their world with them. The only problem was he didn't belong there. Not really. Other Vulcans had adjusted easily, but Spock couldn't see himself making the colony a new home; not without his mother, or any other meaningful relationship to keep him there.

He stood inside his quarters, impeccable as always, but inwardly less composed. His single silver case was packed, and he only needed to call for a lift to travel to the dock for the Colony ship. To his memory, it left every few days for Vulcan II, and the next scheduled flight was in a few hours.

So why wasn't he moving?

_We never found his body._ The thought came unbidden, from some obscure section of his subconsciousness. _There's a chance._

Inwardly, he scoffed at the idea, but he found himself putting his suitcase down, and marching through the halls towards the Bridge.

A full inquiry into the incident had, of course, been conducted; they had come to the same conclusions that Spock had initially held. But how could he be truly sure? He would have to put his ghosts to rest by examining everything himself, in better detail than he had during the crisis.

He sat himself at the familiar Science station, rather than the Captain's chair, even though that would give him easier access to the databanks. He hadn't yet put his application forward for Captain, and Starfleet had not yet asked him. They didn't want to seem to be jumping in Jim's place too quickly, and Spock wouldn't dream of accepting a commission yet, if at all.

Spock deftly pulled up the files and records of that fatal day, and began digging.

* * *

Two days later, and Spock was beginning to truly believe that there was nothing else to discover of the incident. He was fortunate that no one cared enough to look him up in those missing days, or to visit the ship where it was moored. Even the presence of Scotty was unnoticed, as they kept to their respective decks. Spock knew that he had not slept the required minimum hours for maximum efficiency, but he still found himself refusing to retire. He worked like it was a crisis situation, a period of intense mental strain that he had only experienced a few times in his rather eventful life.

He looked at everything; radiation levels and traces, activity in the general area of space, washing the various signals through filters until they were crystal clear and verifiable. He studied the planet's geography and history for any indication of anomalies, and poured over those last few minutes of footage from every soldier and officer in the warehouse and on the various ships. It was hard to experience the explosion in agonising detail, again and again, knowing that Jim could be in the middle of his screen as the flash went off, pluming into a massive toxic cloud reminiscent of those in Earth's history. He began to wonder if anything could survive such a monstrous act.

It was only on the third day that he had a breakthrough.

He was frozen for easily a minute before he sat back in his chair, letting the doubt fill him. It was faint... it was barely a shadow across the myriad of sensors of the Enterprise. But there was definitely a heat plume from a section of ground, and a hollow section below it. He was certain that it was not a natural phenomenon. What was underground, or how big it was, became lost in the fallout from the nuclear blast. But it was a lead.

He copied out the coordinates and details of the location, pleased to see that his hand was rock steady.

The investigators had missed it, but there was no blame in his thoughts; it was small, for a millisecond on only one external sensor out of hundreds such devices. Only through Spock's tenacity and thorough work was it uncovered- whatever 'it' turned out to be. It could just as easily be a malfunction, or an anomaly that he had missed.

He noted that he should leave if he was to catch the next ship to Vulcan II, so he left his station with a surer step and a higher chin than he had arrived with.

If he was to put a name to the change, he could have called it hope.

* * *

The time on the shuttle gave him plenty of time to rethink his situation. If anyone found out what he was doing, they would most likely haul him back to Starfleet for psychological evaluation. If he told his crewmembers, he may be affording them a false hope- the same hope that he now held gently in his own mind, knowing that it may shatter at the slightest shred of hard evidence against his theory. Only through his Vulcan strength and fortitude did he manage to get through the voyage without any external signs of his agitation.

Just before their arrival, Spock decided to inform his father of his imminent visit. He needed a place to stay, and there was no possible way to hide his presence efficiently. His message was worded carefully, cordially, without betrayal of his plan or his feelings on the recent tragedy. It was the kind of message a Vulcan was expected to write with ease- but Spock was vigilant of his tendency to stray from the expected format.

With a smooth re-entry and landing he arrived on Vulcan II, and immediately noted its similarities to his home planet. The atmosphere was almost identical, the architecture was reconstructed to infinite detail, and the Vulcan citizens still moved about their business as they usually would.

The only difference was that this was one in five cities- instead of one in five thousand.

"Good day, Commander Spock," A voice greeted him from within the mass of Vulcans. Spock turned, and saw a servant of his father, dressed in the garb of their household, standing to attention beside him. He was a head shorter than Spock, but didn't seem to be intimidated by this fact. "I am to escort you to your residence, if it is convenient."

"Very well." Spock replied shortly. They travelled in silence, not needing to fill the void like humans usually did.

Spock found that he was reluctant to see his father, Sarek, whom he had grown somewhat distant to. The loss of Amanda, although never explicitly talked about, had damaged their relationship. Spock did not know if it was beyond repair, or whether his father's request to return to the colony was a way of mending the breach. He was about to find out, in any case, and he put the subject to the side for the moment.

Now that he had that seed of doubt in his mind, what could he possibly do with it? No one would possibly entertain such a notion- they would dismiss it as the wish of a bereaved First Officer, without a basis in fact. No, he would keep the information to himself for now, and only himself.

A thought struck him.

_Himself..._

_Spock Prime._

"We are here." The servant said rather uselessly, as Spock could see that their transporter had smoothly touched down outside a large villa. They disembarked, and the servant guided him into the foyer. It was so familiar to Spock that he couldn't help but wonder where Sarek had obtained all those objects to outfit his home exactly as it had been on Vulcan. The large chamber of smooth natural stone and sparse decorum, interrupted by a few doorways and windows, was meticulous in its detail and its grandness.

The servant left without a word when they saw Sarek coming down the stairs, having heard their entrance.

He looked older. Not so much that one would notice straight away, but Spock was unusually observant, and his father's face was extremely familiar to him. He was dressed in his formal robes, leading Spock to think that he was recently returned from a High Council session.

"Spock, my son," Sarek greeted him. "I'm glad you came. May we adjourn?"

The next hour was one of quiet speech and heavy silences. Spock was largely unresponsive to his father's probing questions, especially in regards to Jim's supposed death and his future in Starfleet. Sarek seemed to be under the impression that his loyalty had only been to Captain Kirk after the _Narada_ incident, and his death might lead Spock to spurn Starfleet and return to his people.

Spock told him in no uncertain terms that he would remain in Starfleet, in any capacity, despite his very real doubts as to whether he would take Kirk's place as Captain.

Spock inquired into the prosperity of the colony; his father replied candidly and positively, and talked about the sense of moving forward that they were experiencing. Slowly, the population was coming to terms with their loss. Many interesting programs were being tested in order to advance their society even more rapidly; one particular scientist had come out of obscurity to lend his hand to the project. Had Spock heard of him? Suvok?

Spock had to carefully conceal his utter surprise and disbelief- Suvok was Spock Prime's assumed name. He had known that his alternate self was going to once again immerse himself in Vulcan affairs, but it was still rather surreal and strange to hear it first hand- from his own father, more so. Spock Prime had obviously been busy rebuilding what he perceived to be the consequence of his greatest error. He had initially chosen this planet for their re-colonisation, but from the way Sarek talked of him, even this favour had been attributed to another Vulcan.

Once their conversation began running dry, Spock asked for leave to explore the colony. Sarek was more than willing to give Spock freedom of movement, probably reasoning that the progressive state of the colony would most likely draw Spock into returning to further assist in the rebuilding. He was mistaken in this assumption, but Spock allowed the misconception to stand. It was useful for his still developing plans.

He set out on foot for the geographical centre of the city, following the familiar arcs and lines of his old home in the standard layout of Vulcan architecture. The Science Academy, where the research was taking place, would be located near the nerve centres of the city, as it was such a highly prized field. A few Vulcans looked at him a fraction of a second longer than standard protocol would indicate to be a passing glance, and Spock knew that his presence in a Starfleet uniform was not an altogether common sight. He hadn't had the thought to take it off, though, and he found that he couldn't care less.

He eventually came upon the building he was searching for, a vast dome of interlocking tan blocks that formed a sail of sorts that soared over the entrance. He stepped out of the sun's rays and into the echoing whispers and rustles of the enormous complex.

It was simple enough to direct himself to the laboratory that Sarek had described, and he stood outside the required door with a strange moment of indecision. He tried to convince himself that it was merely a social call, but he knew that it was an abhorrent lie. He was looking for comfort from the Vulcan most likely to understand his unique situation, and although it may be perceived as a moment of weakness, Spock knew that he needed to tell his counterpart of his findings to garner a second opinion. If anyone could relate, it would be his future self.

He entered the research wing with a slow step, processing the scene with a keen eye. It appeared that they were investigating chemical techniques to adapt their native plant life into the new environment with greater yield. It took Spock only a few seconds to locate 'Suvok', bent over a specimen with a laser tool and several interested onlookers.

As Spock approached their sterile white workbench, lit brightly by the solar-powered globes above their heads, he could pick up some of what Suvok was lecturing.

"...which aids in the multiplication of similar solar receptors, ultimately securing a greater chance of a successful fertilisation." He was saying softly, as he tenderly sliced a cross section of the cactus root in front of him. Spock noted the eerily familiar hands, although creased with age and scarred with experience, and the way they glided through the air as he made each incision. Spock joined the scientists at the table, and Suvok stiffened suddenly in his examination, stopping in mid-sentence. He looked up at Spock, and his movements stilled for a second. The rest of the Vulcans looked at Spock with barely veiled curiosity as they noted that he was the reason for their suspended lecture.

"That is sufficient to complete the next stage, I do believe." Suvok covered smoothly, rising from the table and handing the instruments away. "Any further inquiries?"

The Vulcans shook their collective heads and moved away quietly from Suvok's station. The old one looked straight at Spock, and smiled ever so slightly with his eyes. Spock only picked it up because he was susceptible to a similar lapse in facial control.

"Welcome back, Spock." Suvok said softly. "Would it be at all presumptuous to say that I've been expecting you?"

* * *

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**Captain's Log, Supplement: Whenever I see the title of the chapter, I think of **_**Star Wars: A New Hope**_**. Just saying...**


	4. Parallels

**Captain's Log: Merry Christmas, all! Here's a post-season treat for you to enjoy. Thankyou for all the reviews, I love reading them.**

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**CHAPTER 4: PARALLELS**

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_Jim: "Spock, I suspect you're becoming more and more human all the time."_

_Spock: "Captain, I see no reason to stand here and be insulted."_

_--The Devil in the Dark, TOS_

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Nyota Uhura found that she was coping. Barely. She had steadfastly refused to drink any substance other than water for fear of succumbing completely; she knew that she could be a maudlin drunk at times, and if anything would trigger that side of her it would be a friend's shocking and untimely death. The grief had eventually manifested itself, but she was beyond the stage that she went into a stricken breakdown every time she thought of Jim, or if some stranger mentioned his 'great sacrifice' in a tone of simpering sorrow. Nevertheless, she was still very emotionally raw. She found work a welcome solace; even from her family's house miles from any Starfleet operation, she managed to find someone in need of a xenolinguist at the Academy or in private fields and transmitted everything over the communicators. Her family were extremely supportive, of course; her mother cooked more of her favourite dishes than Uhura had seen since the death of her father, and she willingly immersed herself in the comforts of her culture.

At the end of only one of their four weeks of leave, she felt ready to face the reality by returning to Starfleet and readjusting to her uncertain future.

She found that Sulu and Chekov had been through similar cycles of sadness and incomprehension; Jim had seemed so immortal, and to be confronted by such mortality so early in their young lives was indeed difficult to face. They were coping admirably, however; Sulu was keeping Chekov occupied instead of moping, and Sulu himself was taking his frustration out in further combat training.

The only member of the crew that Uhura was genuinely concerned about was Bones. He was inconsolable to the point of violence against anyone who tried to pull him out of his depression, and since most members of the senior crew had already tried and failed (to the phrase "get the hell out and leave me alone!"), it was left to Uhura to try. An unenviable task at the best of times, and almost intolerable in the current circumstances- but the Enterprise needed its Chief Medical Officer, and Uhura was beginning to find that she was disturbed by the prospect of leaving him to suffer alone. No one should have to go through that without a shoulder to cry on.

* * *

"I'm so sorry, Spock." Suvok said gently, once they were outside the complex and walking along the streets towards his residence. "The Jim in my universe... although we lost him to Starfleet's mission, it was under better circumstances."

"Your Captain Kirk also died?" Spock said bluntly. "It seems that he is destined to give his life in the line of duty."

"Not destined; highly likely. The nature of Jim was such that the concept of him dying of an old age is rather incredible to believe."

Spock had to agree with his counterpart there. Jim was too adventurous to die peacefully in his sleep.

"What are the crew's reactions?" Suvok continued. Spock wondered how much his companions were similar to those in the alternate universe, and whether he had different expectations of them.

"I was unable to ascertain their state of mind. I had little contact with them after the incident and the... funeral." It was difficult to say after his investigation's findings.

"You were there for a few days before coming here; may I inquire as to your activities?" Suvok was shrewd, and relentless in his intrusions. Spock felt a hint of resentment at the man's probing before calming himself automatically. He needed to keep his wits.

Suvok stopped walking, standing outside a small but well appointed tower of apartments that seemed to soar into the sky, streaked with orange at the sunset. Spock postponed his reply until they were inside, Suvok serving some refreshments and waiting patiently for Spock to answer his question.

"I believe you asked after my activities after the funeral ceremony." Spock said evenly. At Suvok's slow nod, he moved forward in a relentless wave. "I did not fully believe the verdict of Starfleet, and conducted my own investigation aboard the _Enterprise_ with the intention of discovering the truth for myself."

Suvok nodded. "I thought as much. We both know Jim to be the most stubborn of men, a survivor above all else."

Spock said nothing. He focussed on the carved table in front of him, following the whirls in the wood and trying to match them up with images of known nebulae. Suvok seemed to sense him uneasiness.

"It is hard to face; I see that you had to find out for yourself. What are your feelings now?"

Spock was once again surprised by this Vulcan's talk of 'feelings'. Was he so severely impacted by his long interactions with humans, and Jim in particular, if he could so openly ask that question?

"Our mother also took much stock in emotions, Spock. Do not disregard the lessons we learn from them and the direction they offer." Suvok answered his unspoken ponderings.

Spock tried it. "I feel..." That statement was momentous enough that he had to pause and try to gauge his emotions, and be able to give them voice. It was extremely difficult, but he found the courage to speak. "... I feel that Jim is alive." It was a relief to say out loud, to give voice to his suspicions with confidence and conviction.

Suvok stilled. "I see," He said finally. The vibrant light quality flickered as the sun moved behind the far mountains, and Suvok rose to turn lights on to compensate. "I'm not sure that's entirely logical, Spock." His older self chided, his lined face sinking into a frown.

"The evidence is inconclusive. I have found a possible route of inquiry through my perusal of said records, and I wish to go further before resigning myself to the possibility of the Captain's death." Spock reasoned, noting that he said 'Jim' in his head where he said 'Captain' out loud. Suvok seemed to be having an impact on his normal thought processes.

Suvok sat back down, and Spock noted that their postures were also eerily similar. The way they placed their hands firmly just behind their knees, the way their bearing was proud yet subdued.

"I find that hard to believe, Spock." Suvok sighed. "So... try to convince me."

Spock arched an eyebrow.

Suvok's eyes crinkled in mirth. "Go ahead- in this case, I sorely want to be proven wrong."

* * *

"Bones... It's Uhura." She said into the intercom, peering nervously through the camera where she knew McCoy would be watching. "Can I come in, please?"

There were a few beats of silence as she stood outside his room in one of the research and affiliates colleges, where he had been hunkered down since the funeral.

"No." His terse reply came suddenly, and Uhura noted how raw his voice was.

"I just need to talk to you." She tried to explain.

"Don't need to hear it. I know what you're going to say anyway."

"Humour me."

"..."

"You can't keep me out here forever Bones," She snapped, losing her patience. "The others may be deterred, but I am sitting out here until you open this door, do you understand me?" She sighed. "That's what friends do, right?"

"..."

A few thumps and clicks later, and the door opened an inch. Uhura let herself in, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the state of McCoy's apartment. For a doctor obsessed with cleanliness in his medical bay, he was a slob at home- although it may just be a result of his general apathy after Jim's death.

Bones himself looked dead. He stood like a puppet without strings, slouched slightly and unable to meet Uhura's eyes.

"I'm stronger than this," He said bluntly. "I know I am; it's just..."

"Bones, he was your best friend," She whispered. "There's no way that you were just going to live with it and move on... you're human, after all."

In two quick strides, Uhura caught Bones as he sagged, clinging onto her. They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity, tears streaming from every eye in remembrance of James T. Kirk.

Healing was a long, slow process. The crew of the _Enterprise_ were persistent, if nothing else, and this would be endured.

* * *

"I must say, Spock, you present an interesting conundrum," Suvok said after Spock had outlined the evidence he had uncovered. They had missed the traditional hour for sustenance, but neither of them was willing to stop for such a mundane need. "Yes... it's indeed a troubling situation- but if- in the case of... then..." It was obvious that Suvok was merely thinking out loud, and Spock waited to be addressed. "It seems that I have something you need." Suvok said eventually.

Spock raised an eyebrow, realising belatedly that Suvok was capable of mirroring the movement to perfection.

Suvok didn't seem to notice. "My ship, Spock... I have reconstructed the Ambassador shuttle from my world to the best of my ability... you did, after all, crash it into Nero's ship." There was a hint of mirth, but no anger. "It is more than capable of the kind of investigation you require."

Spock had admitted that it was a possibility, but he had also assumed that Spock Prime would be unable or unwilling to part with it- again. "That would indeed aid me," He replied softly. "If you feel that you can-"

"Take it, please." He assured him. "If you can bring Jim back to us, it would be the least I could do."

* * *

"I was informed that you approached the scientist, Suvok, today." Sarek said blandly as Spock returned. "What did you discuss?"

Spock cursed his father's information network, and his propensity to check up on Spock even when such an intrusion was unwelcome. "Many things." He began generally. "The regenerative qualities of sub-desert plants, my own work in Starfleet, among other topics. Why do you inquire?" It was true that Spock had been present at the laboratory when they were discussing that, so it didn't feel entirely false.

Sarek merely looked pointedly at him before shaking his head. "Spock, you have your mother in you always... and it influences your better judgement. I merely want to protect you from Suvok; some very strange stories have come to me about him, about his past."

Spock stayed impassive. "His past is irrelevant. We were purely professional."

Suvok was silent for a moment, before continuing in a tired tone. "Spock, very few know of Suvok's true nature. I will assume from your guardedness that you are one who does know... the information has been kept from me, in a highly coordinated attempt to keep it even from senior Council members. Spock, will you promise me that this Suvok is no one to be afraid of?"

Spock paused, feeling slightly surreal in that he needed to defend himself from his own father. "Have you even met Suvok, father?" He asked instead. "Or seen him?"

"Not in the flesh." Sarek admitted. "Why do you ask?"

Spock nodded; he had guessed as much. He was almost certain the his father would be able to pick up the subtle signs that Suvok was in fact an alternate Spock, if only he met him and felt his unique aura. Sarek was a singularly gifted Vulcan in gauging character, and the parallels would be too big to ignore. "In answer to your question, you have nothing to be apprehensive about. Suvok is as logical and trustworthy as I."

He left before his father could formulate a reply.

* * *

Suvok wasn't there to see him off, but he had made all the necessary arrangements to get him to the shuttle secretly and leave the planet without as much as radar detection. The ship as also fully stocked with anything he might need, and many things that he probably wouldn't. It was almost too easy.

Spock had never used the controls other than in a crisis situation, and now he had the time to appreciate its beauty and grace. The autopilot was extremely advanced, and handing over the flight plan to the computers without qualm gave Spock time to think.

He had told Sarek that he might not be back for a few days without giving him any further details, no matter how hard Sarek pressed. Only Suvok knew his true mission, one that Spock wasn't entire sure about in terms of objective. Would it be a rescue, or a recovery?

Either way, he needed to know. The scientist within him needed the proof of his own eyes, his own hands, and his own mind.

* * *

Jim awoke to a strange feeling of euphoria, unaccountably happy at regaining consciousness. All he could see was the blackness of his eyelids, and he hadn't even tried to move yet. He had a hunch that the euphoria was just an after effect of the hypo, and reality would soon come knocking. Regrettably, it did.

"You moron, now we're _all_ dead!" A harsh voice snapped out of the darkness.

Jim tried not to make a noise as the scene came rushing back to him. The explosions... the shocked look on Spock's face... the Bandit...

He opened his eyes to the dim lighting of the chamber, quickly assessing his environment around him with a military mind. It was a rusty old room, cramped from the amount of supplies and debris surrounding them. The only clear space was for a small space craft, ancient in its construction and bearing the burns of long service; in the _Requiem_ class, it was affectionately known as an L-Pod or "lentil pod" due to its shape. Jim also noticed the three men standing beside it.

He immediately recognised one as the one that had grabbed and drugged him, and the others were in too much shadow to make them out with any certainly. He could see that one's profile spoke of bulk and muscle, which wasn't a good omen.

As reluctant as he was to check his injuries, he knew that he had to. He gritted his teeth as he viewed the damage; his head was throbbing, his chest still hurt to inflate, and his broken leg was barely receptive, but he was functional. The binding on his wrists and ankles looked easy enough to escape, if he had the chance. That was all he needed, really... although a phaser would be handy. He would be resourceful, cunning, and logical. _Think Spock._ His mind supplied, rather arbitrarily.

They were still talking, and Jim strained to hear them through the ringing of his tortured eardrums. "...worth a lot, he's a bloody officer!"

"What if they come for us, huh? We'll be destroyed for this!" The hysterical one said.

"Lighten up, Karros." The second one growled, and they all looked at him. "No one's going to come back. Our idiot leader made sure of that when he blew the base to the moon! The whole surface is contaminated."

Karros cursed. "I don't know about you, but I'm launching off as soon as the hull will stand the radiation. We can hide out in some colony; no one cares about the outer rim."

"I do." Jim croaked, causing them to jump into defensive positions before they remembered that he was bound and helpless. "The Federation will chase you down like the dogs you are, mark my words."

"Forget it, Captain." The gruff one said. "You're dead to them; we're all dead to them. In fact, we can do _anything_ to you, and the Feds would never know." He paced over, hard leather soles impacting against the metal floor with an ominous thump. He leaned over Jim, his face coming into the light; it was heavily scarred, twisting his mouth and forcing his eyes to squint. "Know why, hotshot? Because we _shot_ that ship clear out of the sky; it's nothing but frozen debris and corpses by now. So... until we have the chance to sell you, you'll just have to behave... you friends won't come for you now. You're all alone." With that, the three men returned to their whispered arguments- this time, out of Jim's range.

Jim refused to believe it. The _Enterprise _was better than that. They had been in situations like these thousands of times, and they had always pulled through as a team. He left no one behind, and even Spock was beginning to be swayed into the notion of absolute trust and belief in their ability to survive as a team. He would have faith, and help the others find him. They had always pulled through... even in the face of impossible odds.

With that, he began working at his wrist ropes. He certainly was a stubborn man.

* * *

Even in the Ambassador's shuttle, the journey would take at least two days from the Vulcan colony; Spock had to find ways to occupy his time, or he would quickly revert to continued worrying.

He began by examining the ship itself, the engineering that ran it to perfection. A glimpse of the future was hard to resist, especially when it would help the Starfleet of the present. He thought of Scotty's excitement as he prised open the engineering panels and marvelled at the simplicity and complexity of the technology.

He felt a momentary sense of guilt that the ship wasn't, in fact, a complete replica of the one he had crashed in a moment of logical self-destruction. The _Narada_ incident weighed heavily on his mind for many reasons, one of which was that seemingly endless countdown to death on his collision course.

He recalled Captain Kirk's expression later when he had described his actions to the officers; it was frozen into a mask of incredulity at Spock's actions, a tense and almost furious look that Spock had never seen before. It took Spock some considerable contemplation to reason it out. George Kirk had performed the same manoeuvre on the day that Jim was born, protecting his crew and the child he would never see from certain destruction by throwing himself at the enemy in a suicide run. Now, many years into the future, Spock had done the same. And it had frightened the Captain out of his own senses.

It had frightened Spock as well.

When he first decided upon his path, he found himself obeying it without question. Only the courage and determination within him, driven by the logic of the situation, kept his hands steady and his gaze fixed. Despite this, however, he could sense his human side emerging. The spirit of self-preservation and fear of the unknown began to come upon him, until he was truly feeling fear. This was his personal Kobayashi Maru, and he was facing it alone. In those final moments before he was beamed aboard unexpectedly, he found himself thinking of all the things he wanted to have accomplished. One might say that his life and flashed before his eyes, if by 'life' one meant inadequacies. So many things he had left unfinished... so many people he would disappoint. The thought of leaving his crew behind, not just as a First Officer to them, but as a friend, had a greater impact on him than he was willing to admit. Yes, Spock experienced regret, and he wished to have achieved more. To borrow Admiral Pike's phrase, he dared himself to do better.

And he had been doing better. Not only in terms of efficiency, although the statistics on his reports had steadily increased, but in fulfilling his Vulcan and human duties. He found himself more receptive to other crewmembers, and they in turn had accepted him in a greater capacity. Particularly in terms of Jim, he found himself warmed by the thought of their growing friendship.

The feeling died as he remembered what his current mission was. What use was such progress if the only man he intended to share it with was lost to him?

* * *

"Not in the Academy?" Uhura frowned. "Computer, new request... the movements on Commander Spock and possible channels of communication."

There was a slight pause before the woman's smooth voice came back. "Last log: Commander Spock purchased ticket type 238B. Three days previous. Possible contact: unknown."

"Computer, clarify... Ticket type 238B?"

"Short range civilian shuttle, destination: Vulcan II."

Uhura's stunning eyes blinked wide at this revelation. Of course, Spock was welcome to return home as many of the crew had done, but he had left without as much as a word. Starfleet still believed him on the planet; they had come asking after him, wanting him on official business and believing him to be with either Uhura or Bones.

'Three days previous'... what had Spock been doing before leaving? He hadn't used any temporary accommodation in Starfleet...

"Compute Commander Spock's previous movements." She ordered.

"Commander Spock: logged as leaving _USS Enterprise_ before purchase of Ticket 238B. Logged as entering _USS Enterprise_ three days prior. No other record exists."

"I'll be damned." Uhura murmured. Spock had remained on the ship after the funeral, and then rushed to Vulcan II? It didn't seem right.

A hail came through, and she identified it as Admiral Gercelli. She answered immediately, putting the video link on the console. "Admiral." She saluted smartly.

He looked entirely the same as from her early Academy days. He was balding and thin, with pointed features and a grave demeanour- even more sombre, given their circumstances. "Lieutenant Uhura, I am sorry to interrupt you at this time... do you have a moment?"

She nodded. "What is it, Admiral?" She had never liked the man particularly; he had always seemed too cold and unfeeling, even if he was excellent at his job. Even his condolences had been somehow false, quickly said and forgotten.

"Starfleet needs to contact Mr. Spock, on a matter of some urgency... I understand that you have already been contacted about this."

"Yes, Admiral, and he's nowhere to be found. I believe he has left for Vulcan II, sir." She said carefully, wondering whether they had even checked his records themselves.

The Admiral's eyebrow rose. "Really? I thought you had strict orders to remain on planet."

"We were given no such order, sir. We were told to remain on campus or return home- I guess that is Spock's home, so he contravened no standing order." She said. "If I may, why is it so imperative that he is contacted?"

Gercelli sighed, shifting in his chair. "I was afraid that this would happen... Spock is not an impulsive man, Uhura, you know that... but he's also persistent. I take it that you have viewed his logged movements?"

She winced inwardly. "Yes, sir."

"Very thorough, Lieutenant; have you any idea why Spock was on the _Enterprise_?"

"I haven't had the time to speculate." She said, wondering where he was leading her. It was obvious that he had an agenda to follow here, and she was determined to protect Spock from that in any way she could.

"Well, I have... and I've had the time to investigate, too. It seems that Spock reviewed the data from Zersaal- several hundred times."

Uhura looked at him in surprise. "Sir?"

"He took his results with him when he left, but it seems that Spock may have found what he perceives to be a loophole or sorts. A chance, if you catch my drift." He looked at her sternly. "I am telling you this, Lieutenant, because I believe that you can handle this information, and because you may be able to help me. He may be avoiding messages from Starfleet, but one from his good friend in a state of acute grief may be tempting to him. Ask him as to his purpose and state of mind, and report the results."

"Sir... I am not comfortable with this assignment, I think that..."

"You have your orders, Lieutenant Uhura. Follow them to the letter." He snapped, terminating the link before he could see her jaw drop in surprise.

"What the hell was _that_ about?" She said, letting her hands drop to her sides. She quickly came to a decision, tapping out a transmission to be sent to Spock's personal message bank- if it even reached Vulcan in the same way that it transcended continents on Earth. Uhura needed to check her manuals, but it seemed that such a civilian message could be sent (for some great expense) to the colony. There was another reason for the civilian route; it would be less likely that Starfleet would tap her private line, and if they did, she had them conducting illegal surveillance if things went the wrong way.

Only one question remained: what to write...

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**Captain's Log, Supplement: Sorry to leave it there, but I had to divide this one up into two chapters. The next one should be up before the New Year.**

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**Click the button below- go ahead!**

**Ensure my muse is loved and fed!**


	5. Memories

**Captain's Log: Personally, I adore this chapter; gotta love a flashback.**

**Shameless Plug: the amazing Brittany Diamond's analysis of K/S (Spork) in the original series. It's funny, awesome, and a blind man could see it with a cane. Voila! Just take out the spaces and shoot for the stars...**

http://www. /s/5105759/1/ AnalyzationCommentary_of_TOS_for_KS

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**CHAPTER 5: MEMORIES**

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_Jim: "We need him, Bones... I need him."_

_--Star Trek: The Motion Picture_

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Spock entered Zersaal's sector of space, outwardly composed but inwardly in turmoil. He'd had too much time to think, and now he was digging deeper than he had imagined possible. He began remembering Jim as he once was, back on the _Enterprise_ after the Narada and before their last mission, and feeling strangely heavy every time a particularly strong memory came to him.

"_Spock, come join us... Sulu, budge up."_

_Jim was always making room for Spock, constantly aware of his First Officer's presence and eerily aware of his thoughts._

_As it was, there was sufficient room on their table in the Mess Hall, and Spock didn't see fit to decline the invitation. He sat next to the navigator and was content to observe and listen, with his Captain directly opposite him and Bones, Uhura and Chekov further down the polished aluminium table. They were currently complaining about the standard of replicator food- a common topic among the crewman, Spock had observed._

"_Yes, Bones, I know that it's perfectly nutritional; but there's no heart in it, no soul!" Uhura was exclaiming. "Food should be expressive and emotive, not this dead matter merely to sustain us!" Spock assumed that she was drawing on her cultural propensity for food as a family activity to show affection and companionship; she had often spoken to him of this passion._

"_I agree with Uhura, Bones... next stop we have, I'm investigating whether the technology can be advanced to at least an edible level. Even though we can't support fresh food every day, we have standards." Jim was quick to agree, to the general consensus of the table. Spock merely ate his salad, privately agreeing that the food lacked a certain variety and substance._

"_Why do you always order the same three dishes, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked, causing Spock to pause mid-movement. Firstly, he was surprised that his Captain had observed his eating habits so closely. Secondly, he didn't want to offend with his answer. He slowly and cautiously replied, "This is an essentially human menu, Captain. Not every dish is appealing."_

_Bones nudged Jim. "Vulcans are vegetarian, Jim... and many basic Earth ingredients are also partly toxic to his green-blooded hobgoblin system."_

_Jim looked surprised. "Why didn't you say something, Spock? Only three dishes, that's not enough variety!"_

"_I take supplements," Spock replied briefly, not wanting to cause a scene. "I am content with the circumstances-"_

"_Content doesn't cut it," Jim stated firmly. "I'll note it in my log. It's unconceivable that you merely cope with the current menu. After all, we're Starfleet- we deserve only the best."_

_That was met with a general cheer from the listening table, and the matter was resolved._

It was always the small things with Jim. No detail was too minute to escape his attention, no problem too small that he wouldn't give his opinion. When off-duty, there was a greater chance of finding him immersed in a pet project than actually resting as the time required.

_Spock needed to contact the Captain, who was off-duty for the shift, but not in his quarters as he should be. This was often the case, as Spock found; the computer located him on the engineering levels, and he made his way there in the typical Vulcan stately walk. He came upon a scene that made him frown slightly._

"_Are ye sure that coupling will hold, Cap'n?" Scotty asked. "It's a wee bit tight."_

"_Accounting for the heat of Warp, it should expand nicely... keep an eye on it, just in case."_

_Jim was under the broken and brightly sparking console with a spanner and a lack of protective clothing- namely the safety goggles sitting neglected on the ground, and the shirt of his uniform. It took Jim several seconds to notice his First Officer's presence._

"_Ah, Mr. Spock... was there something you needed?" He asked, straining to remove himself from under the tangled wiring without electrocuting himself. Wondering what had possessed the Captain, Spock helped him up with a firm grip under the arms. He initiated the physical contact without consideration, and he felt his mind tingle at the unexpected touch. He kept an impassive expression on his face and let go as soon as the Captain had regained his footing._

"_Thanks... erm, hold this for a minute..." He handed the spanner to Spock and knelt down to rummage around out of sight, coming up triumphantly with his shirt in hand after a large and ominous ripping sound._

"_Damn thing got caught on a bolt, third one I've ruined this week..."_

"_As deplorable as that is, Captain, I question the logic in participating in such activities at all. Surely Mr. Scott's staff can handle such a job?"_

"_Ah, but you see, Spock... that's the difference between me and most people. If I didn't install it myself, and it malfunctioned, I'd have to blame someone else for its failure. Better off to put it in myself, and suffer any consequences." He shot a winning grin to Spock, who was unimpressed._

"_Most illogical, Captain. You are suggesting that you run the ship entirely by yourself."_

"_Not by myself, Spock; there are a few indispensible people—you are among them. I couldn't possibly..." He cleared his throat before attempting to get back into his shirt, which was now covered in grease. "What did you need me for?"_

"_It seems that you are not dispensable__either, Captain." Spock said with a tone of amusement. "In fact, you are rather necessary."_

_Jim's answering expression had all the warmth and radiance of the sun._

It was the smile. Everyone instinctively trusted that cheeky grin, even those who shouldn't fall for it. Spock suspected that he used it knowingly, to his advantage—but there was definitely moments when that was not the case; when the response was involuntary, and he was genuinely happy at someone or something. It was a relief to see him relax from his Captain's duties, even if it was a brief moment in a long day.

"_Rook takes bishop." Spock made the move smoothly, Jim hardly looking up from the board. Spock liked to categorise their games into several stages based on Jim's habitual expressions, from smooth confidence to its usual state of defeat._

_Jim's face was well into the 'thinking intently/pained grimace' stage._

_Jim had only managed to beat Spock a handful of times, and this was turning out to be Spock's victory. If only some kind of miracle would occur, some lapse in Spock's judgement perhaps, to disrupt the game and allow a turn around...._

_Suddenly, the ship lurched sideways as Sulu took drastic measures against some unknown adversary. All the pieces, antiques that Jim insisted on playing with 'for the sake of authenticity', slid off the board and tinkled into the corner of the room._

"_Sulu to Captain Kirk, I apologise... a comet came in fast, evasive action was taken, condition normal." The flustered hail came, the embarrassment evident in his hasty message._

_Jim glanced at the pieces rolling about on the floor, and smirked. "Seems that our game was cut short, Spock... shame."_

_Spock merely shrugged slightly, putting on a nonchalant act. "Not entirely, Captain. You do recall that my own memory is completely photographically flawless? We can reset the game quite easily."_

_The look of tortured chagrin on his face was priceless, and Spock refrained from commenting._

Spock found himself joking around with Kirk more than he had thought himself possible. He didn't know what it was, but the Captain certainly prodded the human nature to expose itself every now and again, often in the most inappropriate moments.

"_Damn zis new communicator system." Chekov cursed, swinging around to face the Captain and the rest of the Bridge. They had just lost contact with a search party on the planet below, from a relatively small space anomaly that the older systems would have most likely avoided. "Zis is an improvement in ewery other department, but if it cuts out at ze first sign of zis wariety of static, it is next to useless!"_

"_That will be relayed to Starfleet; the problem is inherent, and most likely dangerous to future missions." Kirk replied, already beginning his log of the error._

"_American junk," Chekov snorted. "In Russia, we are craftsmen." He proceeded to outline the advantages of Russian machinery, the Bridge wrapped in his uncustomary outburst. The only things that could get Chekov so animated were technology and mentions of the homeland._

_Spock intervened after some considerable time. "This is a strange attitude, Chekov; for as I recall, this particular model originated in Russia from the hands of Russian scientists. Perhaps you would like to revise your opinion?"_

_The uproar of laughter that emerged could be heard a deck below. Jim later explained to Spock that he himself was not only laughing at Chekov's blunder, but at Spock's rather unexpected and biting remark. Spock had to admit to himself that he had hoped it to be the case, and his effort to relax on the Bridge had not gone unnoticed._

Yes, he was definitely getting wrapped up in his memories now... back on the shuttle, Spock was partly curled into his seat, poised like a panther at rest with a faraway look in his eyes. There was one memory that he particularly treasured, but he found that he was unable to control the pattern. They came like waves, and he tried to stop them with his bare hands, his fingers slipping harmlessly between the crashing waves of nostalgia.

"_Spock, dear, what is troubling you?" Amanda's eyes were filled with concern, almost so emotive that it was painful for Spock to look into them._

_He was sitting on a window seat of their house, the only window that looked over the distant mountains and not over the familiar city. Spock couldn't explain what always brought him to this place, but it was his favourite place to think._

"_I declined admission to the Science Academy, without even considering the implications of service with Starfleet. I will be even more isolated among humankind, I think."_

"_Oh, Spock, it's not about blending in... I know that most of all. It's about finding somewhere to call home, an unconditional home! It's like love; it can be unexpected, and strange, but the way you fit there doesn't matter. As long as you can believe in yourself, it doesn't matter how everyone else interacts around you. You have found a place to simply be."_

His mother was always full of such wisdom; he found himself wishing that she had more to give him, guidance for every situation. Knowing this to be impossible, he soldiered on, holding those words like precious stones in his hands to call upon and examine carefully in the harder times.

Those words came back to him with clarity, one afternoon before shore leave.

"_You are not going ashore, Captain?" Spock asked with some concern. He had observed Jim's habits, and found them to be incompatible with a human's long term limits. It was for the best that he visited the planet, even for a small amount of time._

"_No, Spock... they crewmen like going down there because it reminds them of Earth, their home. Although I find the thought of a tropical paradise tempting, I find myself thinking of 'home' more often. The comfort that it brings..." He looked up at Spock, as though only just realising that he was listening. "So, no- this planet holds no value for me."_

"_If the planet does not resemble home, Jim, what does?" Spock found himself asking._

_Jim swivelled slightly to glance at him fully. "The ship, Spock," He said patiently, as though it would have been obvious. "The _Enterprise_ is all I have now. I don't need Earth when I can be up here."_

"'_An unconditional home... you have a place to simply be'." Spock quoted softly, the moment coming back to him with startling force. It didn't come as a great surprise to him that he felt exactly the same way; there was no Vulcan planet, little family ties and no lasting friendship ties- the _Enterprise_ was what he had been searching for, what his mother had talked about. It was his haven, and he was never more thankful for his lot in life than at this moment of revelation. He reflected for a moment more before looking down at Jim, whose mouth was hanging open slightly._

"_Erm... a quotation, Mr. Spock?" He seemed unsure; whether of his own question, or of the reaction it would garner, Spock wasn't certain._

"_Of sorts, Captain... my mother," Spock said softly, finding that it didn't stir up the habitual hatred and sadness he usually experienced in similar moments. "She was a singular woman." Now he was merely slightly regretful._

"_I'm sorry I didn't get to know her, then." Jim was silent for a moment, undoubtedly thinking of what he could say next. "Well, since we have been tragically abandoned on the ship while others frolic about and reminisce about home, what do you say to a game of chess?" He winced slightly, obviously wishing that he hadn't changed to topic in such a cavalier manner, but it was all the space that Spock needed to regather himself._

"_Certainly, Jim. It would be my pleasure." He wouldn't miss their ritual for the world._

Was he the only one that was hyper-aware of Jim's words, actions, reactions? He knew that Dr. McCoy displayed an inordinate amount of care for him, but he wasn't always on the Bridge. There was always the slightest moments that Spock noticed that seemed to be ignored by the other crewmen.

"_Leaving the farming colony of Cersus now, Captain." Sulu informed the Bridge._

_Spock came up to Jim with a statement to sign, but Jim held it loosely in his hands, seemingly with little intention to write on it._

"_They were scared, Spock," He said quietly, under the hum of the Bridge. "Unsure of their future... I just hope they make it."_

_They were well equipped, Jim. Barring the unexpected..." Spock trailed off._

"_There never is any certainty in this universe." Jim said, somewhat bitterly. Spock was the only one to see the way his hands clenched an extra 10% than normal, and that his breathing rate was somewhat elevated. He remembered that Jim's own background was in agriculture; it may have had some bearing on his emotional reaction. He had betrayed nothing during the entire mission, only to be hit by it now._

"_I believe we have things under control here, Jim, if you wish to retire." Spock said firmly, unintentionally taking Bones' mentality._

_Jim looked up at him with some surprise, obviously not expecting his First Officer to notice his discomfort. After heaving a sigh, he nodded swiftly. He scribbled a signature quickly and handed it back to Spock, the movement lingering._

"_That will be all, Spock... you have the conn."_

_Spock assumed that the rather brusque farewell was his way of thanking him in a backhanded manner. He couldn't help thinking: how very Vulcan of him._

"Entering orbit, sir." The computer chirped, taking him out of his reverie. He was slightly concerned that he couldn't keep his mind on both tasks at once, and immediately began to compensate. He took control of the ship, gazing at the external screen view of the arid and wretched planet. He'd hoped never to return, but this was an exception he was willing to make.

* * *

Jim was beginning to get bored. It surprised him, quite frankly, because he was in such a dangerous and unstable situation, and boredom was not exactly the way to face it. Nevertheless, sitting between some crates for what he approximated to be almost a week was _not_ his idea of an exciting time. The only break he got from the monotony was the occasional food thrown at him, and the few moments that the Bandits talked loud enough for him to overhear.

It seemed that they were in an underground bunker; not a very sturdy one at that. Jim felt a chill up his spine when Karros mentioned the radiation outside, and that it was slowly creeping in through the old rusty rivets. They only had a few days before the sickness started, but there was one problem.

The pod was built for three.

If they were going to keep their hostage, they would have to leave a man behind.

Jim was prepared to make the decision easier for them; the aggressive one, Tork, would be a problem in any potential escape. He was always on alert, even sleeping with his eyes wide open, and his physical stature was impressive. Jim knew that he would be hunted down and killed in an instant, and in the state he was in, that wasn't an option.

He was given an opportunity to take him out that night.

He had long ago loosened his bonds to the stage that he could slip them off easily, but he was unwilling to betray this unless he was certain of some kind of victory. It was Karros on duty that night, and for once, Tork had gone to sleep with his face to the wall. Karros had pretty much zoned out, probably not asleep but definitely inattentive.

Slowly, quietly, a muscle at a time, he moved into a crouching position, slipping off the ropes and ignoring the protests from his strapped leg. He was sure that he only had one chance at this, so she sent a silent prayer into space as we moved into position. He crept across the floor to behind Karros, in the shadows, noting that the antique phaser in his holster was within reach. He stopped his shallow breathing, leant in closer, and got his fingers around the butt...

There wasn't a sound to be heard. Allowing himself to take another quick breath, he decided to act swiftly. In one smooth movement, he jerked the phaser out of the holster and shot Karros clean through the neck.

It was on heavy stun, but it was close enough to something vital that Karros was on the floor with only a small cry of pain and surprise. It was enough to wake the others, and Kirk rolled behind a crate to take out Tork and the one he hadn't learnt the name of. With the unfamiliar phaser, it took him a few precious seconds to readjust his aim and the settings to kill. He winced when he noticed that he only had enough juice for one or two more shots, if he was lucky.

"Stop him!" Tork screamed, reaching for his own weapon and beginning to lumber behind some crates for cover. Jim took him down before his hand brushed the phaser, the man toppling onto the space pod with a massive clatter of flesh against steel. Jim tried to get the other man, shooting another bright beam of blue light where he had been, but he was suddenly nowhere to be seen. There was only one place he could have gone... on the ship.

Sure enough, Jim was suddenly blinded by the lights of the L-Pod.

"Move an inch, prisoner, and I'll blast you to hell," An amplified voice came over the speakers. "Drop the weapon."

Noting that it was empty anyway Jim dropped the phaser with a sigh, deciding to surrender for now. It was a good effort, anyway. Two down, one to go.

"On the ground. Face down."

"Do you think he used to be a policeman?" Jim said sourly to no one in particular, obediently dropping to his knees and lowering his injured body to the ground. His leg was throbbing red-hot pain, and the burns on his chest seemed to be restricting his breathing; if he tried to take a lung full of air, he was fearful that the damaged skin would rip open completely. Lying face down was beyond agony.

"Don't move." This was from the man's normal voice now, and Jim looked up through slightly parted eyelashes to see him encircled by the light of the L-Pod. He stood there, motionless, for a few moments, before kicking Jim violently in the abdomen.

He couldn't help but cry out as the boot struck, gritting his teeth against screaming outright.

"Are you going to be a good hostage, now? Or do I have to make this unpleasant?"

"Unpleasant? Do I have a choice in that?" He managed to choke out, earning him another kick- at the chest. This time, he did scream, and he felt warm blood trickle through the ragged bandage and onto the floor as his burn was re-opened.

"No talking." The voice went on, mercilessly. "You just killed two of my so called 'comrades'. I didn't much care for them, but then again, killing them was something I was rather looking forward to doing myself. Now, it seems, I have a small decision to make here... kill or keep?" He followed this ominous statement with a high pitched cackle, utterly without humour and chilling to the bone.

Jim felt a dawning apprehension. It seemed that he was wrong in assuming Tork to be the leader, the most aggressive; this man was much, much more dangerous- psychotic, even.

And now he'd made him angry.

The third kick sent him spiralling back into darkness, helpless against its irresistible pull.

* * *

**See something you love? Hate? Have mediocre or secretive feelings for? Let me know with a review!**


	6. Instability

**Captain's Log: I love to see the theories you all have, so keep them coming!**

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CHAPTER 6: INSTABILITY**

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_Jim: "Well, Mr Spock, if we can't disguise you, we'll find some way of explaining you."  
Spock: "That should prove interesting."_

_--City on the Edge of Forever__, TOS_

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******

Spock had collected himself again, and honed in on the area he had identified, near the warehouse he had been in only days ago yet seemed like months ago. Or, at least, where the warehouse used to be; there was only a crater there now. He checked for life signs; these instruments not so easily thwarted by radiation in comparison to the ones aboard the _Enterprise_. He found nothing.

Not letting this result to faze him, Spock landed the shuttle smoothly outside the crater zone, the sleek silver hull winking in the sun on the dusty plain that stretched as far as the eye could see. Spock knew that he was still in a radiation saturated area, although it had subsided marginally. He decided to wear the radiation suit, and he approximated that it would be safe for less than two hours of intense exposure. More than enough time, hopefully. Vulcans were less susceptible to radiation than humans, but he wouldn't take any chances.

He descended onto the planet's surface, the only sound the crunch of sandy soil under his feet and his own laboured breathing. Following the tricorder readings, he paced to the coordinates of the strange heat plume and hollow underground chamber. He came over a small rise, and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was an opening in the ground below, about twenty metres across, revealing a reinforced metal-lined bunker underneath. The tricorder was still beeping that he had reached his destination, but Spock wasn't listening. He scanned again for life, now close enough that the radiation would have no impact.

Nothing.

If the pit had been open for long, anyone inside would be mortally sick- or, as his readings indicated, completely expired.

He peered inside the bunker, his quick vision picking up various crates and objects, all inert. He jumped inside, rolling to absorb the impact of the drop. There was no reaction, but he remained on the alert, with his phaser in one hand and his tricorder in the other.

He looked into the shadows, and felt his heart rate rise as he recognised two humanoid forms. Upon closer inspection, however, they were both ragged Bandits; one with a phaser burn on his neck, the other with a larger hole through his torso.

There were no words to describe the immense relief that came over Spock as he found that Jim was not among those dead. He had feared the worst- that his entire journey would have been in vain. How could he face his crew, knowing that Jim had survived the initial explosion but they had been too late to save him?

"Jim?" Spock found himself calling softly. "If you're here..."

_Then, logically, you're most likely dead._

No...

He started examining the room, noting the directives on each box. They were all from various places and containing different things, most likely Bandit spoils. They were mostly covered in dust, so this was some kind of auxiliary store room. What he came across next stopped him in his tracks, and he could feel his heart leap with tension and anxiety.

Blood- a large pool of it, the bright red stain so wildly different to his own.

He ran over to it, taking a sample to process back on the ship. It if was Jim's... it he had been hurt this badly, with no medical help...

He shook himself again. If he kept analysing everything with his keen mind, then nothing would be missed.

His next discovery was just as, if not more, important. Burn marks, on the ground... from a small spaceship blasting off, judging by their distance from each other. They seemed fairly recent. It was entirely possible that Jim got away.

He went over the bunker again, not wanting to miss anything; even the most insignificant detail. The only other thing he found was a piece of rope, tied into loops, with threads of Federation yellow uniform caught in the knot. The colour brought back another wave of recollections, but he pushed them back.

From this, he surmised the following points:

Jim had survived the initial nuclear blast and subsequent radiation.

He had been tied up by the Bandits, possibly to use as a bargaining chip against their oppressors.

He had killed his captors, and escaped in the spaceship—whether alone or accompanied, Spock could not say.

He was badly injured.

_He needed Spock's help._

Spock ran back to the ship, unable to account for his sudden urge to expend energy. He tore off his radiation suit and got to the lab, quickly analysing the blood sample he had taken, for both identity and how long it had been there. He had retained all the information from the _Enterprise_ and the investigation for future reference, including the personnel file on the decorated Captain James Tiberius Kirk. There was little reason to keep it private, now that he was legally dead.

The DNA was an exact match.

And it was shed less than one hour ago.

There it was, then... proof.

Jim was alive.

A wash of emotions threatened to overcome his practical side. There was a palpable relief, guilt at the way they abandoned him so readily, anxiety at Jim's current status. He could honestly say that he hadn't experienced such emotional intensity since the _Narada _incident.

He powered up the ship as fast as was possible, shooting off the planet and into the black abyss. His instruments quickly picked up some movement out there, another ship. It wasn't Federation; the computer identified it as a D-Class _Requiem_ Pod, only designed for short trips and mostly used for quick shuttle of small amounts of cargo. He attempted to hail it on all frequencies, but to no avail; they were obviously blocking transmissions, or their instruments were broken beyond repair.

He plotted a course to intercept, and a chill ran down his spine when he realised what direction they were heading in. He would not have time to reach them before they arrived there...

The notorious rogue planet of Farsekk.

It was obvious, then, that Jim was not in control of that ship. Willingly going to that planet was not an option that a Starfleet Captain- or any rational being- would take.

He could only follow, watch, and wait.

* * *

Jim awoke to the sound of the _Enterprise_ humming through space... the comfort of familiarity... sounded like he needed to talk to Scotty, the engines were higher pitched and overtaxed judging by their pitch...

Reality came crashing back down. It wasn't his ship. The _Enterprise_ was, if he believed his captors, utterly destroyed. He tried to open his eyes to get his bearings, only to find that they were already open, causing a wave of black panic. As he blinked he could feel coarse cloth over his face. So he hadn't gone blind; he was absurdly thankful for that small mercy. He felt even worse than before, not surprising from recent events. He couldn't even feel his leg anymore... was that a good sign?

"Ah, you're awake," The chilling voice said from somewhere ahead of him. "There's no use trying anything; just enjoy the ride while you can."

"Where are you taking me?" Jim croaked, raspy from his parched mouth and cracked lips.

"I would tell you, but it'll make a nice surprise... I think you're going to like it there." He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it.

_Yep... definitely a nutcase._ Kirk groaned internally, wondering why he always seemed to attract the madmen. As if Nero wasn't the last straw.

He started thinking seriously about his situation. The entire of Starfleet would have definitely wanted to investigate the destruction of the _Enterprise_, and seek revenge, so it was highly unlikely that this pod could have escaped without being noticed. If he assumed that they were all dead... Spock, Bones, Uhura, Scotty... it didn't seem real. Then again, would he fool himself into hoping that they were alive? Could he really believe that?

He'd have to. He needed to be strong, believe that his crew still needed him at the helm- there was an empty chair waiting for his safe return. It was the only thing that would get him through- loyalty to his friends. He began remembering all the times they had put themselves on the line for him, the times they had pulled through. Even during the _Narada_ incident, when all seemed lost, they were there for him. Even Spock, who had every reason to distrust him and disregard everything he said.

Spock... there was someone Jim could spend the entire voyage thinking about without going insane. There was something inexplicably permanent about him, as though he had always been there by his side, and would always be. The level of loyalty and trust that took was something that Jim had never imagined he would experience, especially in an essentially military capacity. They had always seemed stiffer and more formal than Jim liked, so it was a welcome change to see that even Vulcans could display warmth.

After their disastrous beginnings (including mutiny, marooning and near-strangulation- not exactly the basis for a congenial relationship), they had somehow found a level to function on; more than that- to thrive on. Jim had never had a more efficient and understanding companion, and he counted himself lucky that his First Officer was undoubtedly the best in the fleet. The question remained: could Spock escape death?

_They're not dead._ He thought resolutely, stubbornly. _I refuse to believe._

Logically, he didn't know either way. Emotionally, he wished with every fibre of his being that they were alive, searching, hoping.

"That's long enough... back under you go." The rough voice was hovering over him. He tried to struggle, but it was nearly useless. Jim was injected with something that made his head pound and his whole body sweat and shake. This wasn't an ordinary sedative... he couldn't work it out as his mind became increasingly sluggish, keeping a single image before his mental eyes.

* * *

Bones went outside the next day. They took a walk around the apartments, through the park under the familiar trees of Earth. Uhura saw it as a great step; he seemed to be functioning, at least. He started to ask after the other crewmen, and how they were getting through it. She responded as best she could.

"What about that hobgoblin? Haven't seen him around, even though the Science Department were itching to get their hands on him... during bereavement leave, I ask you. They're worse than he is."

Uhura frowned. "That's just the thing; no one's seen him. He went to the Vulcan colony."

"Really? I suppose that makes sense..." Bones mused.

"That does, but not much else." Uhura went on to explain what had happened, Bones with a look of growing disbelief on his face.

"Why do Starfleet need to talk to him so badly? It's strange... what did your message say?"

"It said exactly what Starfleet told me to say—with a twist." Uhura said smugly. "I asked him to contact me first, not the Admiral... then I can really explain it properly, and he can give me some answers."

"Good thinking." Bones agreed. The sombre shroud seemed to come over him again, and Uhura could tell that he was thinking of Jim again. She linked arms with him, offering an unspoken comfort to his unspoken need. His reactionary smile was tinged with sadness.

* * *

Farsekk.

So far removed from the foundation planets, Farsekk was a backwater for crime and anti-Federation behaviour. It was suicidal for a Starfleet operative to go there, and was black listed on every manual that Spock had come across. Attempts to bring it back under control had been disastrous, so instead, they tried to minimise the spread of its illegal activities.

There was no way that Farsekk would let him in as himself; his ship was way to advanced to go unnoticed, and they would assume him to be some kind of new Federation vessel immediately. He had to come up with some sort of deception.

So, he surmised, he had to act more primitive. Easy, considering his interactions with humans had seemed to dull his edge.

He found his answer in the next solar system; a massive planet with rings of extremely thick dust and matter, so that when he flew through it, they scoured the hull of his ship to a workably dark and shabby extent. He had to modify the shields to protect vital external parts, but it was easy enough to achieve. He winced at the likely damage and the reaction of Suvok when he returned to Vulcan II, but it was unavoidable if his plan was to succeed.

Now that it looked slightly less advanced on the exterior, he worked on the interior. Anything that was too futuristic to be explained away, he altered its appearance with the engineering equipment, a coat of rusty coloured paint, and a few dents in the metal. He altered the signal of his ship to show identification from the little known planet of Soorkin, an avid enemy of the Federation yet incapable of building spaceships due to stringent sanction upon their planet. He quickly set up an alias; he was now Yurin Rockwell, a trader of Soorkin and occasional bounty hunter. He had escaped the blockade on his planet to seek vengeance on the people who had stunted his glorious civilisation, and was stopping on Farsekk to gain information, supplies and possibly assistance from similarly inclined revolutionaries.

Deciding that his disguise would hold up sufficiently under scrutiny, he set about changing his own appearance. As much as he loathed the thought, he let his hair go slightly wild and darkened his skin marginally with some pigments. He donned some robes he found in the sleeping quarters, carefully adding some clan marking from Soorkin's largest group with thread and paint. Returning to the helm, he readied himself mentally. The enemy ship would have already landed by now, and was probably unloading.

_Jim, you'd better be down there..._

There was no planetary authority of a recognisable type, so Spock was unchallenged in his approach to the planet. The only communication he had was to ask which dock was open; he was directed to the correct one, landing in the deserted lot with ease. It was basically a square of ground with tall metal walls separating each ship from its neighbour, in the name of secrecy and safety. There was a doorway with evidence of phaser fire singed around the frame, a small terminal for registration and planetary communication (for a price), and absolutely nothing else.

Spock left the ship and descended into the sounds and smells of the world, clamorous and sour to his ordered mind. He quickly entered his ship's entry into the log, a practice that was mainly to guide vessels into empty bays than to keep track of any particular visitors. With a few deft swipes of his fingers and a breaking of a firewall, Spock found that only three ships had entered in the past day; his own, a large freighter, and a smaller ship.

From the description, a perfect match to his prey.

He memorised the scant details that the memory banks had; it had landed roughly an hour ago, piloted by a man simply called 'Deroux'. After considering his options for a moment, Spock decided to test his new persona on the street.

* * *

Admiral Gercelli was in a sour mood. He'd had three mugs of coffee so far that day, yelled at his secretary twice, and demoted an officer for sheer impertinence. He sat silently at his desk, occasionally straightening the papers and pens or the badges on his uniform with ultimate precision. He was a military man, of the old style; ruthless, boisterous, unwilling to wait for anyone or anything.

He didn't understand why his colleagues were waiting so long to announce the replacement of Kirk. A few days off would be sufficient; why a few weeks? Surely the crewmen understood their duty well enough? The death of a Captain shouldn't put a spanner in the works any more than the death of a Yeoman; that's what replacements were for, that's what First Officers were for.

If he could find First Officer Spock, everything would be resolved. As much as the Admiral gritted his teeth against alien species, he had an admiration for the Vulcans. They understood duty, reverence, detaching emotions in sacrifice to the greater cause. First Officer Spock, if he was contacted, would assuredly see Gercelli's side in the matter. He would get the _Enterprise_ running again as if nothing had happened, efficient and logical.

Then where _was_ that Vulcan? He had no permanent residence on the new colony planet, or in Starfleet. He was not with his father, Sarek, as he had initially looked; and that had been in vain, as Spock had only visited briefly before disappearing on some unexplained trip of his own. He only hoped that Lieutenant Uhura would be successful in finding Spock, or at least communicating with him long enough to trace his location. All of his efforts thus far were to no avail, and with absolutely no assistance from the other senior officials. Pike merely said that he would return when he was ready; what was _that_ about? It wasn't like the Vulcan could grieve.

Gercelli wasn't even sure he understood his own planet's mourning. Sure, Kirk was a good leader, but the whole _Narada_ thing was blown out of proportion. It wasn't the work of a single man, or a single crew; it was Starfleet's victory. Gercelli detested medals for personal valour- mainly because he had never received one.

He would put a stop to this rampant sensitivity once and for all. Spock would make an excellent Captain—if only he would turn up, _anywhere._ This silliness had endured for long enough.

* * *

Jim was still blindfolded, and the depravation was beginning to have its affects. His hearing was improving in sensitivity, and he could hear the visitors coming through while Deroux showed off his prize. Most of them had only been curious, but then more serious bidders came; or, at least, Jim assumed that was the case. He picked up scant information, but it was beginning to compile into a load of pretty serious factors. His cage was only about two metres square, and from what he could feel under his probing fingers, was primarily stone. There were bars at the front; he knew that because some men had shaken them and laughed at his helpless state. He also heard the door opening and shutting with every entrance and exit, and the sound of many feet passing outside. He was inside some kind of building, then.

"As you would know, he's a great bargaining chip." Jim heard Deroux enthuse in a low tone. "I'm sure your Klingon Empire would gain many favours and concessions to get _this_ man back."

"We are familiar with Captain Kirk's record and value," The Klingon replied brusquely. "And we have given you our offer."

"Well, now, you must understand... I have several bidders at present; I'm a trader, I keep my options-"

"Very well. You have until sunset to accept or decline our offer. You try my patience." The Klingon growled, leaving with a heavy tread and slamming the door behind him. Jim noted that Deroux stood silently for a few minutes, no doubt weighing up the offer.

Jim decided to taunt him a little. "So, Deroux... how much am I worth now? Enough to get you off this planet before the Feds show up? I'd hate to think what the Klingons would do if you asked more money of them... a brutal race, you know. Absolutely beastly."

"Shut your mouth, Kirk, before I cut out your tongue," Deroux growled. "You'll be sold soon enough, and by then, my health will be the least of your worries."

"I wouldn't say I'm worried; on the contrary, I look forward to your undoubtedly painful end."

All that earned was a resounding blow to the head that left his ears ringing; Deroux had thrown his food tray at him in a fit of anger. Jim decided that it was worth it in the end; it seemed that Deroux could be cracked, under the right kind of pressure.

Jim could do pressure. He _lived_ to create pressure. He would run out of fingers counting how many lecturers he had frightened, intimidated or annoyed out of Starfleet.

He had almost nodded off thinking about ways to get under Deroux's skin and get him close enough to knock unconscious, when he heard voices.

Deroux was back to his subservient self, the one that Jim knew was an act. The buyers would underestimate him if he acted like that... clever, but not exactly flattering. "He's right in here. He's alive, probably kind of knocked out..."

"I will need to be assured of his fitness. It is not fitting to have a hostage die before he is useful."

Jim jumped visibly at the sound of _that_ voice. It couldn't be... but he definitely wasn't mistaken. He could have picked up that voice from a choir of angels.

_Spock?_

**

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**Captain's Log, Supplement: I know, I know, that's an evil place to end the chapter. You'll just have to wait—but in the meantime, send a transmission to Starfleet with your feedback!**


	7. Contact

**Captain's Log: Thanks for all the support, and for your patience! Here it is, Spock to the rescue...**

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**CHAPTER 7: CONTACT**

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_Jim: "At times you seem quite human."  
Spock: "Captain, I don't think that insults are within your prerogative as my commanding officer."_

_--City on the Edge of Forever__, TOS_

**

**

As soon as Spock walked into the small holding cell, it took all of his considerable self-restraint to stop himself from simply killing the Bandit and taking Jim in that instant. Jim look horrible, covered in blood, sweat and dust. His leg was held out at an awkward angle, and his blindfolded face held evidence of abuse. Cuts and bruises covered most of his skin, seen through the rips in his uniform, so that he was hardly recognisable.

Spock could hear the detestable man saying, distantly, that Jim was only knocked out. He kept up the persona, back to full alert quickly. "I will need to be assured of his fitness. It is not fitting to have a hostage die before he is useful." _Jim, please don't be too badly hurt..._

"Er... of course. I'll look him over, once you're seriously asking for him."

They both looked into the cell, to find that Jim was shuffling forward despite his shackles. Spock tried not to reach out to him, stop his advance. _Don't move, Jim... don't say a word._

Jim froze completely, and although Spock couldn't see his eyes, he could tell that Jim was thinking hard. Was it possible... had he actually heard Spock's silent plea?

"Oh, I can assure you that Kirk will be mine," Spock said bluntly, turning back to the man with some difficulty. "I will offer you double what the Kingons are considering."

Spock could see the surprise evident on his face, undoubtedly because his transaction with the Klingon had been completely private. At least, until Spock had picked the thought out of the alien's foul mind.

"Double." Deroux said in slight disbelief, his face losing some colour.

"Yes. Is that sufficient?"

"Well, well... it looks like we have a deal-" He was too stunned to bargain.

Suddenly, the door of the prison burst open, and Spock could see the Klingon standing in the doorway. He felt a stab of apprehension; although he had not felt Spock's mind probing, he was still a danger to Spock, and the Captain.

"Sunset. I have come for my prize." The intruder said boldly.

Deroux swallowed.

"I have already bought the human." Spock said firmly, hoping that no confrontation would be in order.

"You promised him to _me_." The Klingon descended on Deroux, face to face, and Deroux was having a hard time not cringing away. "To me."

Deroux licked his lips. "I had a better offer. That is how-" He screamed, loud and piercing, as a concealed blade came swiftly from the Klingon's sleeve and into his guts. He had to time to react as he fell to the floor, and Spock was quick to move against the enemy. A lightning fast jab between the armour plating of his torso and a solid hit to the head, and the Klingon was on the floor in a heap.

"Spock? Is that you?"

Spock had never been so glad to hear his name in his entire life.

* * *

It was his voice! Either that, or Jim had gone mad. They were equally plausible.

"I will need to be assured of his fitness. It is not fitting to have a hostage die before he is useful."

Oh, yes, that was Spock. The carefully formed language, the rich tone and cadence of his speech... no one could imitate that. Without thinking, he began to wriggle towards it.

_Don't move, Jim... don't say a word._

What? The voice... it was in his head now. It seemed to slip itself next to his thoughts, almost as though... _you idiot, Jim_. Spock's a telepath. Of course he put that there... he stayed as still as a statue, even though the bent over position, barely off his injured leg, was excruciating.

"Oh, I can assure you that Kirk will be mine." Jim almost choked at the callousness behind those words, and the negotiation of price. Spock was going to buy him back? His voice was so cold, so uncaring, that Jim almost began to doubt Spock's intentions. He caught his thoughts at the last minute, appalled that he might have imagined such a thing. Of course Spock was there to effect a rescue, what else could conceivably happen?

"...It looks like we have a deal-"

A crash from the doorway took the attention off Jim. How he wished that he could _see_...

He didn't need to. He heard Deroux killed by the Klingon with a feeling of morbid satisfaction, and a period of blind panic when he didn't know how Spock was going in their scuffle. He was a fantastic fighter, but there was always a chance. Soon, there was only one person left breathing from the fight.

"Spock? Is that you?" Jim breathed.

"Yes, Jim. I'm here." There was the sound of a phaser as Spock presumably melted through the bars; Jim could feel the radiating heat. "We need to move quickly; if Deroux hired guards, they may come to investigate."

"I'm not complaining, just get this blindfold off of me." Jim breathed.

He noted the swing of the barred door and felt the rustle of the blindfold being untied by Spock's nimble fingers; then there was nothing but sweet relief as light rushing back to him. His eyes screamed against the sudden change, but he resolutely blinked until he could at least see shapes.

One particular shape- one that he hadn't thought he would see again.

"Spock... you came for me... you're _alive_."

Even with impaired vision Jim could see the quizzical eyebrow rise. "I believe your survival is more miraculous, but we can argue that point when we are in relative safety. Can you walk?" He cut through the ropes on his legs with a few jerky movements, unavoidably moving Jim's leg.

Jim knelt and then tried to put weight on his leg, groaning with frustration when he found it near impossible. "Not quite."

"Keep the hand restraints on; you will look more like a slave. And I will remove your Starfleet insignia and cuffs; they are a death sentence here." Spock mused. There was a strange tone to his voice, like he was holding something back.

Jim knew that he had to say what he wanted to now, or possibly never, in the event of their failure. "I hoped you'd come. It kept me going."

Spock nodded slightly even as his eyes and hands were busy on Jim's shirt, removing the insignia as best he could. "I would not have left you there, Jim. You would have done the same... it didn't feel the same without you."

Surprised by this raw sentiment, Jim could only be mutely led out of the cell by Spock, leaning on him like a crutch on alternate steps. He was afraid that he would push Spock over, but his thin frame was incredibly steady and strong as they made their slow way out of his crushing prison.

Outside, it was pandemonium; hawkers of illegal goods screamed to hurrying pedestrians, and the occasional vehicles were almost swallowed up in the mass of the crowd.

"Stay by me, Jim. It is not far to the ship." Spock assured him.

Ten minutes later, and Jim was ready to collapse completely. Spock was practically carrying him, and it seemed like an elaborate nightmare.

"You lied, Spock... you said it wasn't far." Jim coughed, wiping the sweat out of his eyes for the umpteenth time. He wasn't sure how much strength he had left.

"It is here." His First Officer said, as they came through a break in the crowd and passed through the gates into the landing bay.

Spock laid Jim on the ground with infinite care as he went to open the ship. Jim watched him from his place on the dirt, noting with delirious amusement that his disguise entailed messy hair and an unusual tan. Spock gently assisted him into the ship, which looked a bit unreliable to Jim before he recognised the layout as the shuttle from the alternate world... which had been destroyed. More questions. He would start with the more pressing ones, though, as he reached the medical bay. Spock had put the ship into autopilot, and returned extremely quickly, almost rushing.

"So... the _Enterprise_, my crew- are they alive as well?" Jim asked as Spock began to sort through the various instruments and drugs in the room.

"We are all well, Jim; it is _you_ who is meant to be dead."

"No shit?" Jim was surprised, before considering it for a moment. "I guess I was in the middle of a nuclear blast, so..."

"That was their thinking," Spock said cryptically. "I must channel Dr. McCoy, and ask that you pose no more questions until you are healed."

"You say it a lot more politely than Bones ever put it." Jim chuckled. He was hit with a tremor over his body before he could finish, and he doubled over in pain. His insides felt like they were on fire.

"Jim?" Spock asked urgently.

"My... it hurts... inside," Was all he managed to gasp out before another crippling wave of pain hit. "Burning."

"Did they give you anything? Food, drink?" Spock placed a cool hand on his forehead, and he arched into the sweet relief. If a Vulcan's hand felt cold, there was definitely something wrong.

"He... injected... something." Jim remembered with a sinking feeling, even as his vision began to swim and the scene blurred around him. "Spock- help..."

* * *

Jim was obviously on the edge of his tolerance. He was tired, injured, physically and mentally traumatised. Spock almost considered just carrying him in his arms all the way to the ship, but it would look too suspicious. He was having trouble keeping up the facade in any case; they had attracted a few glances already.

He had set the autopilot to get to Vulcan II, which was the nearest friendly Federation planet in any case. They had just left the atmosphere of the hellish planet when Jim started shaking.

The first things Spock tried were a shot of sedative and one of antibiotics, as he was running a high fever. He had remembered the medical stats from Jim's personal files, and he was certain to check for any chemicals that had proved problematic in the past. He was restless under Spock's hands, and kept murmuring as though in a dream.

Five minutes later, and Spock was willing to admit that Jim would die without any other help... they needed a Doctor. Bones was naturally the first one to come to mind.

Spock pulled over a screen, wondering how best to get in touch with McCoy. It was only when he happened to read the new message from Uhura, and one phrase leapt out at him, that he had any certainly of reaching him.

"_I'm here with Bones; he's not coping too well, as can be expected..."_

Uhura was with him.

He traced the message back and transmitted his image, praying above all that she was able to answer the video call. He had needed to boost the signal enormously, almost taxing the futuristic system, but he managed it. An eternity later, and her familiar face popped onto the screen.

"Spock! Where are you? I have to-"

"I am sorry, Uhura, but there is little time. I need McCoy to see a patient, in a matter of extreme urgency. Is he there?"

"Who is it, Nyota? Tell them I'm-" Bones appeared on the screen behind Uhura, and froze at the sight of Spock. "Dear God, man, what happened to-"

"Irrelevant." Spock swung the screen over to Jim's heavily breathing form, and although he couldn't see the reaction of the two people, Uhura's scream and Bones' curse was enough to envisage it. He moved the videolink back to him.

"Spock, that's impossible! How can he..."

"He will not live if you do not help him." Spock enunciated, carefully and bluntly, in a tone that he calculated would best get McCoy's attention.

Bones was immediately in medical mode. "Tell me everything."

* * *

"It is enough, Dr. McCoy?"

"He'll live... at least, long enough to get him to the Vulcan colony. I'll meet you there. Look after him, Spock. He's very weak."

Uhura came back into view. "Spock? What I needed to tell you... Starfleet's been looking for you, specifically Admiral Gercelli. Should we tell them anything?"

Spock considered it seriously. His mission was too important to be distracted, even if that distraction happened to be from his superior. "I do not believe that we should inform anyone of Jim's condition. It would be cruel to give them hope if... if he does not pull through."

Uhura's face was solemn as she nodded in understanding. "Bones has already left... good luck, Spock. I wouldn't have anyone else take your place."

"Thankyou." Spock murmured, before terminating the transmission. He sat in stony silence, hovering over Jim's silent body, his hands on Jim's head and his heart.

Spock didn't know what he would do if Jim didn't make it. His great struggle for life would be in vain and Spock's hope unfounded. He could take a guess as to Gercelli's plan; promote Spock to Captain. He could say now, without any reservation, that he would never take the position. His loyalty to Jim was infinitely greater than his loyalty to Starfleet. An emotional attachment, to be certain, but one that Spock did not regret forging in the least.

Jim was stirring, so Spock checked his vitals again. The drug that Deroux had injected Jim with was a toxin, fatal if doses were not taken regularly; thankfully, McCoy had heard of a similar case, and they were able to create an antidote, but it was close... too close. They didn't fully know the affect on his bodily functions, or more worryingly, his brain.

He was relatively stable, so Spock let him sleep, a look of peace replacing the tired and pained one that had ruled his face since the rescue.

It would take three days to get to Vulcan II, and anything could happen in that time. Although the shuttle was incredibly advanced, Spock Prime had been unable to recreate the futuristic medical technology to any definite standard.

That reminded Spock... he had promised to inform his alternate self of his progress. After catching his reflection in the metal of the surgical tools, he decided to make himself respectable before calling anybody else. He washed off the pigment that covered his skin and managed to smooth down his hair, feeling a little more like himself again.

'Suvok' picked up almost immediately.

"Spock, how are you faring?" He asked without delay, almost impatiently.

"I have retrieved Jim, although he is badly wounded. We will arrive in approximately 65 hours."

Spock could see the tension drain out of Suvok at his words. "Alive... a difficult job, and well done," He said brightly, the human phrase taking Spock by surprise. "May I see him?"

Spock watched Suvok's reaction by moving himself next to Jim with the monitor in front of both of them; although Suvok was now in control again, he noticed the hardening around the eyes and the hidden concern in his elder.

He sighed. "Jim, what we put you through... will you ever have peace?"

Spock didn't know the answer either.

"McCoy will be arriving at the colony on the next available flight... will you see to his needs?" He changed the subject, leaving his own contemplation for another time.

"Yes, of course. Land back in the same locale, and all shall be prepared for your arrival." He paused. "Spock, the battle is not over yet. Anything could have happened to his mind."

Spock nodded, taking comfort in the fact that someone else was thinking along the same lines. "I know," He said shortly. "I'll inform you of any drastic changes in Jim's condition."

* * *

Bones loathed space travel. As long as he didn't think about what could go wrong, he could function normally. But in a state of agitation, as he was now, he couldn't help but go through all the possibility for painful, instant or lingering death. He thought that how career in Starfleet would cure his fear; but it turned out that it was only repressed.

How he hated it... At least he was able to think of Jim, and acknowledge that he was in far worse trouble than Bones. He went over his case files in his head, refreshing his mind for the examination to come. What would he find? Was Jim crippled from that broken leg? Did he have permanent scarring from his burns, or his many untreated cuts? Or, most worrying of all, was there still a Jim to examine?

Brain injuries were by far Bones' greatest fear; even more than space travel. He would rather die from a thousand explosive decompressions or solar flares than lose his very identity.

He could already tell that it was going to be a long, nerve racking trip.

* * *

**Captain's Log, Supplemental: Poor Bones, how I make him worry. Have an opinion? Make contact!**


	8. Resistance

**Captain's Log: Happy Australia Day, if I have any fellow Aussies in my readership. For everyone else, just enjoy the chapter!**

**This chapter is named in honour of Muse; blame them for the delay in updating, I was moshing at my usual upload time :)**

**

**

**CHAPTER 8: RESISTANCE**

**

_Spock: "Your illogical approach to chess does have its advantages on occasion, Captain."  
Jim: "I prefer to call it inspired."  
Spock: "As you wish."_

_--Charlie X, TOS_

**

**

The only time Spock left Jim's side was to check on their progress, probably trusting the autopilot more than he should. At all other times, he was anxiously watching his patient's every move.

Suddenly, he felt a brush across his mind.

He quickly rechecked his mental defences, and they all seemed functional. He felt it again, stronger this time, and an unmistakable voice.

_Spock..._

He remembered the moment in the cell when Jim had obeyed his unspoken command... did they have a deeper connection than Spock had ever imagined possible, or had ever dared to hope for? Although it was not unprecedented in Vulcan history, it was undoubtedly a surprise.

Placing his fingers along Jim's pale and sweaty face on the psi points, he breathed slowly and concentrated.

_Jim, can you hear me?_

_Yes._

It was echoed, and indistinct, but he was definitely there.

_You must remain asleep. You will heal faster._

_It doesn't hurt anymore... I feel better._

_I assure you, you are not better. _Spock replied firmly. It seemed that Jim was just as defiant in his own mind. _There is no pain at all?_

_No, but then again, I haven't tried moving yet._

_Precisely. I would advise against it._

A bright ripple passed over Jim's mind, like he was laughing. It was the most brilliant sensation that Spock had experienced through melds, and it sent a shock of happiness through the link. His reaction was almost embarrassing in his intensity. Jim moved on quickly. _Tell me everything, Spock. I need to know._

Spock considered leaving out the more painful parts of the recount, but he decided to be complete and accurate in his answer. Just think of it as an official report- okay, maybe not. _You were left on the surface. Everyone believed you dead, after an extensive investigation into the incident._

_Even my family... everyone? _Jim seemed to cringe, the guilt coming strong through their meld. _I can't believe they went through that... was there a funeral and everything?_

_Yes. Bones was very eloquent in his eulogy, unlike the Starfleet representative._

_Oh, I can imagine... he always had the soul of a poet._

Spock assumed that the comment was sarcastic. As much as he grudgingly respected Bones, he was not known for his poetry skills.

_So, how did you find me? Why did you come back?_ There was confusion, overlaid with sadness.

_I... didn't believe it._

There was a pause. _Against all logic, Spock? Against their utterly concrete scientific findings?_

_Yes._ Spock wondered how, in hindsight, he had allowed that doubt to grow. It was against almost everything he stood for, yet he had rejected the findings of that investigation with ease. It had seemed like a greater force had propelled him into rejecting the official story, and searching for his friend alone. _I conducted my own inquiry._

_I see... I need to install my own couplings to know that the engines are running properly, and you need to see for yourself that I'm actually dead. That makes perfect sense._

Makes perfect sense? To a human, perhaps, but Spock was meant to be different. He had thought himself different in every single way... except that he knew that his human qualities were coming through with force. He had relented, and the positive result left him hopeful of his future identity. He returned his thoughts to the conversation at hand. _My thought pattern was something along those lines... I found sufficient evidence of a possibility of survival-_

_What were the odds?_

_Jim?_

_The odds, of my survival._

_0.003%, in the initial conditions. They improved after my own findings._

_Really? _There seemed to be a morbid curiosity in his question.

_That is irrelevant_. In other words, Spock didn't want to dwell on his obvious betrayal of Vulcan logic- or the thought of Jim's supposed death._ To summarise, I found the nuclear bunker deserted, examined the two bodies, followed your ship off the planet and tracked it to Farsekk, and I believe you know the rest._

_Does anyone else know that I'm, you know, alive and kicking?_ He tried to keep it light, but Spock could feel the weight of his burden. Guilt dripped off every word, an irrational and completely selfless concern for the wellbeing of the other people in his life.

_Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura. I needed medical advice to counteract the poison in our blood. Also, Spock Prime assisted in the expedition and has been informed._

_Wow. What you've been through... for me._ Jim was silent for a moment. _What possessed you?_

How to answer that question... _I believe you can guess, Jim. I was not willing to give up on you. Also... the _Enterprise_ still needs her Captain._

_You could have done it. I know you'd have the drive, and the ability._

_I would not have considered such a move._ Spock was mildly offended. _That position is yours, and yours alone._

_How I want to be a fly on the wall in that conversation... 'No, Starfleet, I cannot be a Captain as I'm leaving the position open for my dead friend here.'_

_You can be, when you wake up. I believe I owe Admiral Gercelli a call._

_Oh man, that pompous ass is going to get what he deserves._ There was a quiet glee to his mind, although slightly sluggish.

_All in due time, Jim. I believe I have exhausted you. _He could feel Jim's thoughts growing fainter as he slipped back into subconscious brain activity.

_Don't leave..._ his drowsy thought swam back up to him. _Don't..._

_I am here._

Always.

* * *

Suvok sat back from the terminal, letting the relief wash over him. Jim was alive... he hadn't lost him yet again. It was enough to watch him die in his own world, but to know that his alternate self might suffer the same fate, too early in life to appreciate their bond... it was inconceivable. He didn't know how his life would have turned out without the presence of James T. Kirk by his side; all he could do now was hope that his younger self experienced at least half of what he had, of what he now cherished as his greatest memories.

He rose to start making preparations; the next shuttle from Earth would arrive in two hours, and he would need to greet Bones personally. In his world, they had grown out of their genuine dislike and replaced it with biting banter and the usual remarks, without the teeth of previous years. Spock Prime had recognised Bones' close relationship with Jim, and accommodated it without qualm. Now, he would meet the Doctor again, in painfully different circumstances. It would still be difficult to keep himself composed in the face of so many old friends, but he would do his best- this was young Spock's time, and he was contented with his many fond memories.

* * *

"Now what can I do," Bones muttered, standing in the space port with a look of consternation on his face. "Damn you, Spock, give me general orders and I'm standing here like a foreign idiot..." He looked around again, this time noting that a strange older Vulcan was looking straight at him, in a manner considered overly bold in Vulcan standards. He came towards Bones, who was suddenly wary.

"Dr. McCoy," He said, making Bones freeze in sudden surprise. "I am Suvok, a friend of Spock. I am to convey you to where they will land, and give you lodgings."

"Erm... fine, of course," Bones said, flummoxed. _Spock had friends? _An acidic part of him said, but he shoved it down. He was just sore at the surprises that the day had presented. "How do you know Spock?" He asked as he fell into step beside the man, a stately pace that frustrated him to no end. Spock walked at this pace when he was off-duty; it must be a purely Vulcan doctrine.

"We have a common past."

What kind of an explanation was that? He was just trying to make small talk, not invoke philosophical debate. _Vulcans and their superior intelligence be damned._

The Vulcan seemed to notice his frustration. "I think it is best that you know little about me. Please forgive my secrecy, but it is a matter of some importance to me."

"It's okay," Bones conceded. "Spock does the same thing all the time, to my great aggravation."

To his utter astonishment, there was a hint of a smile on the strange man's face as he glanced back at McCoy. This was one unusual Vulcan... then again, Spock wasn't completely normal either. His outburst on the Bridge when he nearly killed Jim was a testament to that.

"When will they arrive?" He asked, defusing the strange situation. He wiped his brow, the heavy oppressive heat of the colony already taking its toll on him. He would have to watch for that during his visit.

"I expect them here in approximately 14 hours."

The next morning... it would all happen then. Bones just prayed that he was ready for it.

* * *

_Keep fighting, Jim... four hours left._

_Fight for the Federation._

_Fight for your family._

_Fight for your friends._

_Fight for me._

_I need you._

_Please..._

In the hours since their last mental conversation, Jim had deteriorated. It was slow at first, and then quite evident that he was growing weaker. The fever was back again, nearly as bad as before. Spock gave him some more of the antidote, but it had a lesser effect than before. His hair was plastered to his forehead from the perspiration; Spock did his best, despite his own fatigue and the stress of his continued mental contact. He began to say those phrases out of desperation, an unconscious bid to keep him alive and motivated.

_Hold on..._

He found himself saying human platitudes without hesitation, and actually meaning them. Vulcan reservedness wasn't suitable here. It was uncharacteristic, but it was the truth.

_Stay with me._

There was the occasional flutter from Jim's mind, but nothing conclusive. Spock went through the motions of changing his bandages, unsure if it would help his condition at all but unwilling to do nothing with them.

_Almost there._

Less than an hour, by his internal calculations; when it became closer, he would have to leave Jim for the landing phase.

_Don't let go._

If Jim lasted that long.

* * *

Bones could see the shuttle above them, coming in for landing with all the poise and precision that he expected from Spock's piloting skills. He hadn't received any updates from Spock, and neither had the mysterious Suvok, who stood a few metres behind him, looking serene and unmoved. Then again, he could be thinking anything and Bones wouldn't know- although he found it unlikely that he was a ball of emotions on the inside.

As soon as the craft touched down, Bones rushed to the door with his kit to be let in. It was opened before the dust had settled, and he was confused momentarily by the layout of the ship. Spock appeared out of nowhere to wordlessly grasp him by the elbow and almost drag him to the medical bay. "Hey!" he protested, but it seemed to fall on deaf (pointed) ears. This wasn't like Spock; rushing, consciously making physical contact, lost for words.

Jim must be in a bad way.

And he was; Bones got to work on his straight away, realising that they couldn't even move him off the pod in this state. Spock stood in the doorway, not quite hovering, but a constant presence.

"I am sorry about your shuttle, Suvok... I had to disguise it." Spock's voice seemed even, but with a strange edge to it.

Bones didn't look up from his patient, but he heard Suvok's answer clear enough.

"You may destroy this shuttle a thousand times over, Spock, but as long as you return Jim in one piece, I am content."

_Jim?_ Suvok knew Jim as well, on a first name basis? He shoved the thought out of his mind even before it was fully formed, concentrating completely on Jim. He was professional, this was a man in need, and he would do all he could. He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Spock was surprised to learn that he could still hear Jim's struggling consciousness, even from across the small room. He knew that his mask had slipped in front of McCoy, but he somehow didn't care. Jim was the important thing right now.

Something broke through after an indefinite amount of time, and Spock jerked at the sudden rush of confused thoughts and flashes of feelings.

"He's back." Spock informed McCoy quietly.

Bones frowned. "What do you mean, he's-"

He was interrupted by Jim's eyes fluttering open, and then going wide at the sight before him. "Bones... is that you?"

"That is absolutely the last time I put you back together, you _stupid_, careless man!" Bones began to berate him, but he choked on his own tears of release and relief. Jim put one hand out, brushing against Bones' arm in a show of comfort before letting it drop.

"I should call Nyota, she won't have slept since I left," He muttered. "And don't let him move, no matter what he threatens you with."

"Spoilsport." Jim sighed. Bones moved past the two Vulcans to another terminal, letting them have their time with Jim.

Suvok came forward first, patting Jim's arm. "You always amaze me, Jim. It seems that you're the same in every universe."

"So the other me was equally suicidal?" Jim said dryly.

"Not in as many words... he was equally lucky." Suvok winked before leaving, glancing sideways at Spock in what seemed to be a highly suspicious manner.

Spock sat beside Jim on the chair he had used for his vigil, unsure of where to begin. "I am relieved, Jim," Spock said slowly, "That you decided to live."

Jim looked at him quizzically, sitting up slightly in the bed with some difficulty. Spock waited for him to speak. "It wasn't exactly a decision; every time I felt like giving up, some annoyingly persistent Vulcan dragged me back with his sweet words."

Spock swallowed. It was obvious that Jim remembered his last period of sickness, including his rather sentimental words of encouragement. "That would not be enough. You needed to _want_ to survive to escape from the depths to which your mind sank."

"_I_ wanted to survive, Spock, because _you_ wanted me to."

Not knowing how to convey his concern, Spock instead brushed his fingers against Jim's exposed arm. Jim shivered and let his eyelids flutter shut as the waves of emotion from Spock enveloped him with their warmth. Spock was unprepared, however, for the multitude of similar emotions that came straight back at him through their link, and instantly knew the joy of a human's capacity for gratitude, devotion, and something else...

"Uhura was practically crying when..." Bones arrived suddenly, stopping in the doorway as he saw the extraordinary scene before him. They were holding hands, incredibly tightly, and they had their eyes closed. Jim's lips were moving slightly, as though he was talking silently.

_Right... they're talking mentally. In fact, they're both utterly mental._ He thought dazedly. _I'll just be...when... later._


	9. Recovery

**Captain's Log: I'll take a moment to thank my regular reviewers for their comments and encouragement: calipalace (my self-professed Number 1 fan), Blue-Eyed Chica, gwynhefar (the comfort of the hurt/comfort is coming, I swear!), Veglma, and MirrorFlower and DarkWind. Massive thanks to you, and everyone else who has taken the time to provide feedback!**

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**

**CHAPTER 9: RECOVERY**

**

_Spock: "On my planet 'to rest' is to rest, to cease using energy. To me it is quite illogical to run up and down on green grass using energy instead of saving it."_

_--Shore Leave, TOS_

**

**

The first thing Jim insisted upon when he returned to some form of strength was a reunion with his mother and brother. Spock was cautious of what such a scene might do to Jim's delicate health or his recovery, yet he understood how important it was to him, and acquiesced. Although Jim was barely able to lift his head from the sick bay bed, he still managed to look calm and in control when he talked to his hysterical and tearful mother and cautiously optimistic brother. Spock was touched by how deeply they bonded emotionally, a true family in every sense of the word. He felt the peace wash over Jim once the grief of his family had been alleviated, a weight coming off his slender shoulders. They didn't say anything, as the transition was completely understood.

They found that it was necessary to take Jim off the ship; Suvok didn't have sufficient space for them in his own residences, and Spock was placed in the difficult position of explaining their strange situation to his father.

Sarek was less than impressed.

Nevertheless, he recognised the importance of allowing Captain Kirk to heal, and graciously allowed some of their home to be set aside for their unexpected human guests.

They left the shuttle, with Jim in a hover chair and Bones hovering over him with a multitude of instruments at the ready. Jim accepted their help with good grace, but Spock had the feeling that his generous mood wouldn't last long.

"Goodbye, Ambassador Spock." The computer enthused as Spock left with the two of them. He ignored it as he had all trip, but Bones definitely noticed.

"Did that computer just promote you?" Bones asked Spock, frowning. "Ambassador?"

"It is of no importance." He stated firmly. They had dropped enough clues over their time there that it felt like Suvok's identity would be glaringly obvious, but Bones was still puzzled. Jim covered a smile with one hand and a cough, turning the Doctor's attention and concern back onto him. He flinched when the sun bore down on them, bright and searing, but he adjusted quickly.

They reached their transport soon enough; Suvok was standing beside it waiting for them. He needed to return to his work, so he bowed deeply to Jim as they parted. "You've always found a way to survive, Jim. On Delta Vega, in the face of certain death... you always come bouncing back. You have more than nine lives, my friend."

Jim grinned. "Why stop at nine? I have too much to do, one lifetime just isn't enough."

"Then, Captain Kirk, live long and prosper- for as long as that may be." He raised his hand in the salute, which was returned by the strengthened Jim without much difficulty.

Sarek greeted them with the proper amounts of decorum and ample hospitality, and Jim was equally careful of his words. He had become quite the diplomat without even realising it.

"Your father seemed nice." He said as Spock sat with him in his chambers, resetting the chess game that they'd never had the chance to finish. Spock's hands never faltered in their task, and Jim watched his hands moving with a swift purpose over their board. He couldn't quite explain why they were so riveting to him.

"Yes. He has allowed me much freedom, for which I am grateful." Spock changed the subject to one that he had wished to bring up. "I am to contact Admiral Gercelli soon."

"Uhura will be pleased; he's been pestering her for a while now."

"I believe you expressed a wish to be, what was it, 'a fly on the wall' in this conversation. I have a better strategy."

"Oh? Let's hear it, then!"

"Admiral Gercelli isn't prone to heart conditions, but would you prefer to give him a proverbial heart attack?"

"Seriously? You would do that? For me?" His eyes shone with the enthusiasm of a child, and Spock was extremely glad of his decision.

"If you are amenable." He said, as if there was any doubt.

"Are you kidding? Let's do it now!"

The plan set out, Spock hailed the Admiral from one corner of the room.

"Good evening, Admiral," Spock said, allowing for the time difference. "I believe you wished to speak to me."

"_Speak_ to you? What gave you _that_ impression? I've been trying to contact you for a week!" He barked.

"I was unavoidably detained. I apologise for the inconvenience."

"Well, never mind that now... I presume you know what I wish to speak about?"

Spock nodded slightly, keeping his stony face in check. "My future."

"Precisely, Commander Spock, your future," Gercelli grinned in a shark-like manner. "Of course, you will head the new _Enterprise_ crew."

"I believe that will be difficult to implement, Admiral, without performing a mutiny." Spock glanced over at Jim, who was grinning widely and starting to walk over with his slight limp.

"A mutiny? Don't tell me you're _still_ going on about Kir-"

Jim came positively springing into the picture, tapping Spock on the shoulder. "Spock, have you seen my communicator anywhere? Oh, Admiral! How'd you do?" He gave a cocky salute.

The Admiral's face had gone completely white, all pigment lost in his absolute astonishment. It took him at least twenty seconds to try to string a few words together. "Y-you... but you..."

"Can't keep a good man down, Admiral. So, Spock?" He cocked an eyebrow at his First Officer, who returned one in kind.

"I believe it is on the table, Captain, as it always has been. It seems that your return from death has affected your memory." He said dryly.

"I do believe you're right... do continue, gentleman, sorry about the interruption!" He winked at Spock before sauntering away, laughing uproariously when the incoherent Admiral terminated the call a few minutes later.

"Brilliant! I must say, Spock, you have a mischievous streak in you." Jim congratulated him teasingly.

"I have no idea what you mean, Jim," He replied in a false tone of confusion. "How do you draw that conclusion?"

His answering laugh was the most uplifting sound that Spock had ever heard.

* * *

There was one more event that would unfold unexpectedly that day, and it started with Bones bursting into Jim's room.

"Eureka!" He grinned, looking quite crazed around the eyes. "Ambassador Spock, eh? I'm not as simple as you think, Jimmy boy!"

Jim winced, wishing that Spock was still there to take some of the tirade. "The fewer people who knew that an alternate Spock came through the rift, the better." He tried reasoning, but it seemed that Bones wasn't listening. Instead, Jim sank back into the lounge, allowing the rant to go on.

"...and Suvok, I _knew_ something was up with him! He does look eerily similar to our Spock, admittedly, but that wasn't all. No, I _knew_ that medical bay was beyond even Vulcan standards, but I was just grateful of it at the time. Didn't give it much thought." He flopped down beside Jim, who was smiling.

Jim found a break to get a word in. "You're not too mad, though? It was a pretty big thing to keep from you."

Bones shrugged. "Not really. I realise how important it would be to keep it quiet. Besides, who really _wants_ two Spocks running around? Better to keep one here, I say."

"Congratulations, Doctor," Spock said dryly, from his position at the doorframe. Neither of them had noticed his arrival, but only Bones jumped. "As usual, your analysis lacks the salient points, yet manages to convey the correct solution."

Bones merely rolled his eyes. "Keep that smug Vulcan tone if you like, Spock, but don't forget what juicy secret I have on you now."

Jim sighed, letting their banter continue unabated. This was what he would have missed... all those moments that make up a day and make it worthwhile, all those precious conversations and connections. In the presence of the two friends he held closest to his heart, he felt content.

* * *

After Uhura had gotten the good news that Jim would be okay, she felt so buoyant and euphoric that she could sing from the rooftops; instead, she went to visit Chekov and Sulu. Bones had given her the all-clear to tell the crew and that Jim was alive, on the condition that they kept it secret until he was better enough to return to Earth. Jim would tell his family himself, a conversation that Uhura wouldn't have intruded on for the world.

She also asked Scotty to come along, knowing that she should probably tell all of them at once. She hadn't seen much of Scotty lately, but she'd heard that he was still tinkering with the _Enterprise_, most likely as a form of relaxation and therapy.

"How about some dinner, guys?" She asked them brightly once she walked in the door. "A few drinks?"

They looked at her like she was insane. She sighed; maybe it was just better to get it out there in the open. She had planned to ease them into it, but the looks on their faces were too miserable to bear.

"Or not... I have something to say, so take a seat." She ordered. They looked puzzled, but complied, taking the sofa.

"Captain Kirk is alive."

Chekov's jaw dropped open comically. Sulu merely frowned in bewilderment, and was the first to speak. "Uhura, are you okay? You know that's impossible, right?"

"Seriously, positively, truthfully, Jim is alive and relatively well."

Chekov shut his mouth abruptly and wrung his hands in his lap. "But we left him there, Uhura. I couldn't find his signal." He had been feeling incredible guilt over his part in the incident, despite everyone's comments to the contrary.

"I'll explain it to you, and if you still don't believe me, you can ring him yourself."

Half an hour later, and they were celebrating their amazing friend's recovery with a few well deserved drinks.

* * *

Jim's health continued to improve over the next few days, mainly due to the tenacity of Bones and Spock in forbidding any strenuous activity or, as far as Jim could tell, anything remotely fun. He complained in good humour whenever they forced medicine or food on him and half-heartedly attempted several escapes. Yet even Jim grew grim when it was time to examine his wounds; Spock had to mentally restrain himself whenever Bones' examinations elicited a groan of pain from Jim, and only remained to be of some comfort to his friend.

Spock was unsure of where their unique relationship stood. Many humans enthused that they would metaphorically 'follow each other till death', but Spock had almost done exactly that. Of course he was relieved, and of course Jim was grateful, but there was more to consider. Spock had shown his vulnerability and uncharacteristic emotionalism to Jim, and was now unsure of how to act. Jim, it seemed, acted like he always had- but with some more forbearance and consideration of their implications. He often sank into pensive moods, and Spock found himself to be the occasional object of his vacant yet thoughtful stare. As much as he wished to know what was eating at Jim, it was unwise to directly interfere with their mind link; the one time he had tried, Jim had started guiltily, and then passed his mood off with an unsatisfactory and vague response. Spock decided to let it lie; after all, how important could these introspective moments be in the greater scheme of their predicament?

They gradually allowed Jim to walk longer distances and do some things for himself, which was a faster process due to Jim's grim independence. Spock was often called upon to be a support for the limping Captain, and he no longer considered it merely a duty. To help a friend achieve their goals was a gift in itself.

Although they never spoke of the circumstances of their mind link, it was often active throughout their days together. Spock was careful to respect Jim's privacy, and Jim was careful to maintain a guard around him when in the presence of other Vulcans. Spock was thankful of his considerations; they had both made great sacrifices for each other.

"Spock, I'm _fine_. You're hovering again," Jim insisted, limping to the door by himself. "I'm going downstairs to meet Spock Prime, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I am physically superior to you, Jim; I would be perfectly capable of stopping you if I so wished."

"Then I'd better get out of here before you make up your mind." He did so, and Spock let him with less reluctance than he had portrayed.

He came downstairs a few minutes later, Spock Prime and Jim deep in conversation. He had reached the bottom of the last flight when he heard another person entering in the room.

Sarek had emerged, despite Spock's assumption that he wouldn't for some time, since the Council meeting was in the evening. He glanced at the Vulcan and the human sitting in the tapestry covered chamber, where they usually had visitors, and he frowned. "Spock? We have a guest?"

It was too late now; once Sarek's curiosity was kindled, it was very difficult to suppress. "Yes, father. Suvok knows Captain Kirk, and is enquiring after his recovery."

Sarek looked taken aback at this discovery. "Suvok? I must meet this mysterious scientist... he had done much for our recovery."

Spock could only follow along helplessly as Sarek came up to Jim and Spock Prime, who stopped at his approach.

"Good day, Captain Kirk," Sarek began smoothly. "I hope you are progressing well."

"Only because of your son." Jim smiled slightly.

Sarek turned. "I presume that you are Su-"

It was the first time in decades that Spock had seen his father literally speechless. He looked Suvok full in the face, and the recognition came to him instantly. From a scientific perspective, one would assume that he saw the identical bone structures, and the alterations that come with age; from an emotional perspective, one would say that fatherhood is eternal and unmistakable. Suvok undoubtedly recognised the truth from that one glance.

"I'm afraid I have been found out, Spock. Kindly explain this circumstance to your-" he considered his next words for a few moments; "-_our_ father."

"Impossible," Sarek murmured. "Simply... impossible." He didn't take his eyes off Suvok for a moment, as if he was afraid he would disappear like a mirage. "Spock?"

"There is much about the _Narada_ incident that did not reach the public ear, father. This was one of those, the existence of an alternate universe in which I am a Vulcan Ambassador. You knew that Nero was a renegade from another world, another plane of existence entirely, thrown into our reality- but the secret was in his pursuit of Ambassador Spock and his revenge upon him."

"I see," Sarek said bluntly. "And you saw fit to keep this from me? From the majority of the Vulcan High Command?"

"It was necessary," Suvok said, looking directly and defiantly at Sarek. "I only wish to live in my own small way, with as little impact on the course of history as possible. Too many issues are raised if my identity is revealed."

"You could have informed me," Sarek was adamant. "Spock, I would have been rather more trusting of 'Suvok' if I had known. I could have helped in the deception."

Jim looked slightly confused, and his thought came to Spock across the room. _The deception? He was willing to lie?_

_When it is necessary. It is not a biological trait, rather, an ingrained moral perspective._

"If you two are quite finished?" Suvok said dryly, looking between Jim and Spock. Jim shifted in an almost guilty manner, and Sarek frowned. Suvok continued with some humour in his tones. "You could have helped, certainly, but it was unnecessary. The smaller amount of people, the safer I am."

"Quite. I will have to contemplate this development, if you would excuse me." Sarek tore his eyes away from Suvok, and left the room without a backwards glance.

"He didn't take that very well." Jim noted once he was gone.

"As well as could be expected," Suvok sighed. "It is quite strange; my own version of our father is somewhat more liberal."

"Prone to rampant emotionalism?" Jim teased. "A sight to see."

Suvok shook his head tolerantly. "Believe me, Jim; a Vulcan's emotional capacity is larger than that of humans, like comparing a raging river to a streak of rain."

"You just have a more effective dam."

Spock raised an eyebrow at exactly the same moment and in the same manner as his counterpart, causing Jim to laugh so much that his chest ached.

* * *

**Captain's Log, Supplement! Hooray for revelations! Now, I guess, Bones and Sarek have something in common. :)**

**There will probably be TWO more chapters after this—and then it's the END. My, it has come around fast!**


	10. Precipice

**Captain's Log: Second last chapter! I'm speechless, for once, so read on.**

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**CHAPTER 10: PRECIPICE**

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_Spock:__ Where would you estimate we belong, Miss Keeler?_

_Edith Keeler: You? At his side, as if you've always been there and always will._

_-__- the City on the Edge of Forever, TOS_

**

Eventually, it was time the face reality and reconnect Jim with the outside world, now that he was well enough to stand the pressure. They took Suvok's shuttle to Earth with Sarek's clearance that was able to get them through the port without too much trouble, getting Jim out of sight before anyone could recognise him and start a scene. They had agreed with the Admiral to have a press conference to tell the public, since all of those close to Jim already knew.

Spock watched Jim all the time on the ride to the Starfleet headquarters, noting that he was still thin and weakened by his ordeal.

_You're staring again, Spock._ His amused thought came. _I'm okay, really._

_I will believe that when we get through today._

And he was. Despite the original pandemonium of the press conference when they walked in and the reporters went ballistic, it had gone well; he had answered all the questions patiently and succinctly, even when some reporters were abominably rude in inquiring after his health and state of mind. Spock noted their names and posts with precision, promising silently to follow their movements over the next few days. They looked to be the types of journalists that would go to any lengths to get a scoop, even an unconfirmed one. The last thing they needed was an overeager member of the paparazzi following their every move.

_I enjoyed that._ Jim thought sarcastically. He both loved and hated the publicity; he was a natural in the spotlight, but he could see how hollow the glitter of celebrity was when he had a job to do. _Can I meet my crew now?_

_Certainly._

To Jim's delight, they had organised a massive party in a disused hanger, and the reunions and revelries lasted well into that night. Jim was the centre of all attention, and he was obviously ecstatic to meet everyone again. Spock tolerated most of his antics, stopping short of allowing him too much alcohol or exertions beyond his recommendations. Jim complained sourly that he was a bad as Bones sometimes, an assertion that Spock took in his stride.

It was only through Spock's firm insistence that Jim tore himself away from (a slightly tipsy and rather teary) Chekov, and headed back to their rooms.

On the way there, Jim's thoughts were all of happiness and bubbly optimism.

_That was fantastic, seriously... I can't imagine what they would have gone through, but it's great to see that it all turned out in the end._

_Indeed._

Spock was included in that category... what he had 'gone through'. What he had suffered for Jim had changed him irreparably, somehow shifting his identity to something foreign and unexplored. That would have frightened him once; now he was merely eager to discover himself once again.

Jim had kept up a constant stream of chatter, even as Spock escorted him into Jim's quarters. It was barely better than a motel room in terms of size and facilities, but then again, Starfleet was an essentially military institution; comfort was not an issue.

_By the way, since when was I so adept at this mental communication thingy? Is it classed as telepathy? _He shook his hair away from his eyes again, which seemed to be drooping slightly with fatigue.

Spock refused to look directly at Jim, unsure of where this conversation would go. _Telepathy is an adequate description._

_What brought it on?_

Spock had to think quickly. _I have not yet discovered the potential of this bond. It may have several connotations that-_

_Liar._

"Excuse me, Jim?" Spock said aloud, cocking an eyebrow at the accusation.

"You don't intentionally lie often, Spock, but I can spot it when it happens. You know more than you're letting on," Jim said shrewdly. "And you usually have a good reason for it, but don't think that I'll let you off on that score."

"It is true, Jim, that I have some inkling as to the origins and purpose of our mental bond," He sighed. "Vulcans are well versed in this practice."

"Details, Spock, details," Jim insisted. "It's happening to us- why?"

"It can be the case that trauma victims bond through their shared experience." Spock explained quietly, opening the door to Jim's room with a swipe of his card. They were single-berth, but Spock had managed to get two rooms with a connecting door between them, just in case Jim needed him at any point. The lights came on, pulsing softly in the contained and sparse room. Jim followed close behind him, still peppering him with sharp questions. It was obvious to Spock that Jim had been holding these questions in for a while, until what he judged to be the right time.

"Why don't you just say it, Spock? We both know it goes deeper than that." Jim insisted. Spock examined his expression closely; he was aggravated, tinged with sadness at Spock's refusal to open up.

As usual, he was showing exceptional reasoning skills. There were times when Spock wished he wasn't friends with a genius. "You are correct, Jim... there is more."

"I deserve to know." He now looked slightly hurt, and Spock was overwhelmed with the wish to tell him everything.

Spock acknowledged the point with a single swift nod. "Vulcans and humans have had a troubled past in terms of contact. There have been precious few examples of cross-bonding, one of which was my counterpart's meld with you on Delta Vega."

"Not a pleasant experience, I assure you. He was in kind of a hurry," Jim said with his supreme talent for understatement. "Let me throw a theory out there for you, from what I know."

"By all means." Spock took the only seat in the room, pressing his fingers into a familiar posture of intense concentration and control, even if he didn't feel in control. It was a comfort thing.

Jim began to pace, with only a slight limp to impede his relentless steps. He soon stopped, and faced Spock directly, his blue eyes drilling into Spock's dark eyes. "Sure, the trauma was the defining moment in this process- you asked me to stop and stay calm in that cell, so I did. You gave me instructions, and I followed them. All well and good... except that I believe we were already connected."

Spock gave no indication of his own feelings on Jim's theory, letting him run on ahead. Internally, he was spinning. He had come to the same conclusion... they had often had moments on the Bridge, in tense situations, where they had either predicted each other's actions or acted in perfect synchronicity, like they were an eminently suited diving team. Although this kind of harmony with a First Officer was almost standard in Starfleet, it went deeper than merely understanding each other's actions. Obviously, those moments had not been lost on Jim.

He continued, warming to his subject quickly. "I've done some research, you know. That kind of link flares up in crisis situations, but we can use it all the time. It's deeper than telepathy; it reaches into the subconscious itself, shown when you dragged me back from mental oblivion in my illness," He smiled slightly, coming to a halt. "I know you're not one for empty phrases, so I'll call on Exhibit A, no matter how much you protest. I have a direct quotation here..." He pointed to his head with a slightly melodramatic flick of his hand. "I believe you said... '_Fight for me. I need you. Please._'" His voice had sunk to a serious rasp that tore at Spock.

Spock tensed, but remained silent. He could remember all too well what he had said, and what he had meant. Jim looked slightly uneasy at bringing it up, as though he expected Spock to walk out on him. Needless to say, he stayed put.

"It wasn't so much the _words_ you said, though... it was _how_ you said it- with utter conviction. You really believed that..." Jim was beginning to show signs of strain, his impassioned speech and the long day taking its toll. "...that you couldn't live without me."

"Jim, please..." Spock interrupted finally, unable to take the strength that his silence was taking to maintain. Jim looked at him expectantly, waiting for the response.

Spock knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he didn't know if he should. As much as he loathed the morally grey area, that was where he was treading. No turning back; step by step towards an unknown fate, through a door that could lead to heaven or hell. How could he possibly trust in what Jim was might think, what he might feel in return? Suddenly, all words left him. His precious vocabulary, the pride in his speech, flew away into the sky with his common sense and slammed the window behind them.

Jim had sat down, perched on the edge of his bed, waiting for Spock to pull himself together. Finally, the Vulcan shook his head.

"I cannot tell you, Jim," He held up his hand to the expected protest about to come from Jim. "But I can show you."

He slowly rose to his feet and advanced, his hand already forming into the mind meld position. Jim's eyes were trusting and clear, almost too much so. Spock sat down beside him first, knowing that this could drain his strength despite his abilities. Jim's eyes flickered shut, his eyelids only twitching slightly when he reached out his hand and gently, precisely, placed them along Jim's face...

Then, without warning, any barriers between them dissolved in a flash of mental perception and mutual understanding, and Spock silently communicated to Jim the truth, and nothing but the truth.

* * *

Jim hissed in a breath as the flood of emotion from Spock's subconscious hit his own mind, and then allowed it to wash over him. The thoughts were fluid, shifting and dancing through his mind like the flashing of a rainbow. He honestly couldn't find the words to describe the utter vulnerability between them, and how he also shrank away from such contact. Tentatively, clumsily, he allowed himself to join the whirlwind with his own feelings, and the two minds danced and interwove with all the ease and confidence of a planetary pattern governed by gravity. It was unavoidable, intentional, and even essential. Jim had never felt so accepted in his life, and now in the mental embrace of his greatest friend, he found peace.

The words were there, inside the splashes of emotion. Words like _only, always, everything, love_. It was the evidence of the silent bond that had always drawn them together, and was now Jim's very reason to keep breathing. The depth of Spock's emotion and Jim's own acceptance and reciprocation surprised him, and then delighted and inspired him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he had retreated into his own thoughts and locked away the wild subconscious, he became aware of a blinding headache. He wasn't sure when he had lay down, but when he came to, there was someone bending over him.

"Spock?" He mumbled, trying to see past the glare of the lights.

"You wish," Bones' unmistakable voice came to him, tinged with amusement. "It's the good doctor here for your check-up."

Jim groaned, shutting his eyes briefly before trying to face the day. His mouth was dry and his eyes were gritty from his sleep, but he managed to sit up and at least try to look presentable.

"I'm fine, Bones, leave it..." Jim said unconvincingly. Maybe he shouldn't have had that glass of champagne... or danced so much on his leg, as it was throbbing uncomfortably... or...

He suddenly remembered with startling clarity what he had done on return to his room.

"What is that look for, Jim? It looks like you've seen a ghost," Bones frowned, starting to run his sensors over Jim's torso. "I'm just glad you've had a good sleep."

Jim glanced at his wristwatch, which had imprinted his cheek with its geometric links. It was 1600. "Why'd you let me sleep, Bones? I had stuff I wanted to do today!"

"Not me, Jim. Spock said you shouldn't be disturbed," Bones deflected the blame. "I definitely wasn't complaining, though."

Jim tried to shake off his negativity. "How was the rest of the party? Anything interesting happen?"

Bones' bright red face was a definite indication that _something_ interesting happened.

"Aha! I knew it! Come on, spill," Jim grinned, glad to have the attention turned away from himself. "And don't think of holding back, I have contacts everywhere."

"Dammit, Jim!" Bones groaned, sinking onto the bed beside his captain. "Uhura and I..."

Jim raised a surprised eyebrow. "Indeed? _Do_ continue."

"Don't give me that cocky look, young man, you know exactly what I mean!"

"I'm not a mind reader, Bones, and I want details."

"Last time I checked you _were_ a mind reader," Bones muttered to himself, remembering the incident in the shuttle. "Uhura.... we're together now." He went even redder, but a dreamy expression came across his hardened features.

Jim slapped him on the back. "Congrats! I knew someone would succeed where I had failed. Good luck to you, she's a very- _opinionated_- woman." He thought for a moment. "Wait, so are you- you're prefect! Why didn't I see it before?" He comically and dramatically hit his forehead with his hand.

Bones snorted, his smile widening as he remembered their night of dancing and celebration. "Because you were officially dead at the time, I suppose."

Jim enjoyed the banter that passed between them, as it took his mind off a much larger issue.

He was forced to think about it when Bones eventually left, promising that he would come back that evening to take the officers out for dinner, on Starfleet's bill for a bonus incentive. He also mentioned in passing that Spock was at the lab and would be back within the hour.

It came back with clarity. _Spock. Last night. The whole shared ordeal, complete with soulful revelations._

He didn't regret it in any way; the only problem that he could see was in his propensity to ruin every relationship he came across. Despite that, he knew that this was unique. Spock wasn't just another girl, not even another man. He was Vulcan. He was his First Officer. He was his best friend. He was _Spock_.

What could he do?

What did he want to happen?

* * *

**Captain's Log, Supplement: This is the part where I apologise for dumping a cliff hanger onto your screen. Believe me, it was the only place that I could possibly break up the conclusion.**

**In addition, I'm moving cities, so the last update may be a little bit late. But do not fret, I'm going to try my best to finish soon!**


	11. Always

**Captain's Log: The LAST chapter. I'm so glad that you're enjoying it all. Thankyou for all the reviews I've received, and to all the readers lurking in the wings as well.**

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**CHAPTER 11: Always**

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_Spock: "James T. Kirk... I have been, and always shall be, your friend."_

**

Without realising it, the angst that Jim was feeling made its way along their mental link, which accounted for the pangs of anxiety that Spock felt suddenly on his way back from the Science Centre. He recognised them as Jim's, and suddenly regretted leaving Jim asleep, able to make his own assumptions, and not explaining clearly what had happened to them last night after the reunion. Then again, Jim had looked so tranquil when he had left him asleep- not a normal state for his excitable Captain. As soon as Spock had broken the connection, he had slipped into an energising sleep, the worry lines leaving his forehead for the first time since his near-death experience. It had taken Spock at least an hour to tear his eyes away from Jim's sleeping form, even when he had duties to attend to... he was just utterly transfixing, as always.

Their intense meld had exhausted Jim and almost had the same effect on Spock, except that he was more capable of handing the strain; the process was natural to his species, after all. Spock entered his own room first, hyperaware of Jim's presence next door. He organised his possessions with precision and rather more attention than needed, trying to keep his mind on the comforting and familiar task.

Eventually, he knew that it was time to face Jim again, so he drew upon his courage and knocked on their adjoining door.

* * *

Jim felt Spock's intention to knock on the door before he had raised his fist, a strange feeling of premonition niggling at him in his still untrained mind. He shifted in his seat, making sure that he looked presentable (in a rugged kind of way).

_Come in._ He thought in Spock's general direction, hoping that he had the knack of it.

Since Spock walked in, he assumed that it had worked. Jim instantly felt at peace in his presence, drinking in the sight of his long and sinewy limbs under the Starfleet shirt and the dark features which were so achingly familiar to his mind.

To Jim's utter surprise, Spock risked a slight smile as he entered. He didn't say anything, but Jim recognised it as a greeting, and a warm one at that. It was slightly marred by the traditional stance that Spock took on the Bridge, rigid and at attention, but Jim was willing to take it one step at a time in getting Spock out of his shell.

_You're looking much refreshed,_ Spock said. _Has there been much pain?_

_No, and Bones has already been in,_ Jim had to smile at his concern. _Relax, I'm fine._

Before Spock could even move an inch, Jim was suddenly next to him, holding him, cradling his form with a strong and comforting grip. So much for taking it slow, but he couldn't help himself. Spock sank into the contact, breathing softly against Jim's hair with little flurries of breath and returning the embrace with a squeeze of his arms. He could have gladly stayed that way forever.

_I apologise for the leap I took last night... you were not fully prepared for what happened._ Spock's silent regret broke the reverie.

Jim merely held him tighter, relishing the extreme warmth. _It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one... and it felt amazing to experience so much emotion. It was cathartic, in many ways._

_I'm glad,_ Spock said simply. _It could not be hidden for much longer, I think. You might even say it was a relief._

_I might, because 'relief' is a human emotion... but I know you now, Spock. You feel this even more keenly than any human could dream to feel love._

And there it was; a conscious choice to say that word and to acknowledge the feeling as what it was, and to embrace it. Jim knew now, for certain, that it was love. There was no other explanation.

Spock pulled back, and looked deep into Jim's eyes. He could see the slight flush that had spread across the Vulcan's cheeks, and the way his eyes darted around as if to soak up every facet of the image in front of him. Jim also admired him, from the pores in his skin to the hair out of place on his forehead and the flickers of colour in the irises of his eyes. Without a word, Spock closed his eyes and leant his forehead against Jim's, the differences in their skin temperature very apparent. Jim felt a silent delight that Spock had allowed this moment, the longed for proximity and intimacy that he had buried underneath the need for professionalism- which was long past. He was beyond rational thought, and he had a sneaking feeling that the ever-logical Spock was also losing grip with reality.

Jim felt a strange stab of something else through their connection, and he wasn't able to identify it immediately. It wasn't quite doubt... it was like a wistful thought, but it was quickly flung away by the vigilant Spock who noted that Jim had seen that small strand of emotion.

"Spock..." Jim began, but he was cut off.

"There is no privacy to our relationship, so I will say this quite plainly," Spock started softly, moving his hand down Jim's side in a swift and deliciously graceful movement to grasp his hand. "I am apprehensive, both of our direction and of its general reception."

"I'm not ashamed, Spock. You would ask what they think of us, and I would answer that I didn't care. I've never cared about their attitude towards me. They can throw me out of Starfleet for all I care-"

"Jim, do not speak so rashly," Spock admonished. "You must consider-"

"Consider _nothing_. I'm not letting you go, Spock, and that's final." Jim said defiantly.

There was a beat of absolute stillness from Spock as he saw the truth in Jim's open face, followed by a visible relaxation.

Jim chuckled as their link was re-established by Spock, revealing his obvious relief at Jim's words of reassurance. _That's better,_ Jim teased. _We may be unorthodox, to be sure, but at least we're in this together._

_Indeed... I have never been more thankful to have you back with me._

Jim wanted to say how much he agreed, and that he wouldn't miss this for the world, when he was interrupted mid-thought.

By Spock's lips on his.

It must have been entirely on impulse because he didn't get any warning from their thoughts, but he found that he was beyond rationalising... he was kissing back, and it was the most natural thing in the world. It was multiplied by their passionate connection as Jim pulled him closer, tasting Spock's strange yet enticing mouth. He pulled Spock closer from the back of his neck, lost in the utter bliss of the moment...

_Bzzt._

Spock was a few metres away in the blink of an eye as the intercom on Jim's door interrupted their kiss, much to Jim's disappointment.

"It's probably Bones," Jim said with a wry grin.

"Ah, yes... our dinner outing," Spock recalled. Jim was amused to see that he had to flick his hair back into place from where Jim had mussed it slightly. "Please, feel free to answer the door."

"This isn't over," Jim winked at him, only smiling wider when an eyebrow shot up at the insinuation. He opened the door for Bones before Spock could answer, their visitor coming in from the cold outside.

"I thought I would freeze to death out there... you'd better bring your coat, Jim. You can't get a cold now. After the amount of time I've invested in you, it would be a waste for you to die of pneumonia or something equally ridiculous." He was already whipping out his tools for a quick diagnostic, to the rolling eyes of the impatient Jim. So much mothering _really_ got old after a while. Jim noted that Spock had swiftly retrieved his own layers of clothing to brave the elements, and was now standing silently and stoically, his customary mask back in place.

"Your heart rate is quite elevated..." Bones muttered with a concerned frown. "Did you just run a marathon?"

It was all Jim could do to not laugh in the good Doctor's face. "It's fine, Bones. Just... excitement."

"Hrm," Bones wasn't convinced, but he let it slide. "Better leave, or we'll be late."

"Right." They made their way through the icy wind to the restaurant, Bones linking arms firmly with Jim on one side and Spock standing attentively on the other. He felt almost guilty for the amount of people he seemed to attract who were willing to catch him if he fell, but he squashed that thought after a faint disapproval emanated from Spock.

They arrived at their private table, where Uhura, Chekov, Sulu and Scotty were waiting with an already opened bottle of red wine. They were getting a head start, apparently.

Jim alternately acted the dutiful captain, the playful friend and the unwilling patient throughout the night, according to any observations of him by the others; but there was another role that he maintained. Sitting next to Spock, every time he was reminded of his presence or hit by a particularly vibrant emotion, he totally lost track of time or topic and had to refocus. It almost became a game, in which Jim and Spock would try to unsettle each other to the extent that someone noticed their strange behaviour. Not surprisingly, they were both too good at their jobs to allow themselves to be seriously sidetracked for long, but it was an amusing diversion.

They had a light but delicious dinner, and Jim was subtly influenced into ordering a vegetarian meal, by both Bones for the nutritional value, and by Spock to test the potential of their mental link. Although Jim glanced suspiciously at Spock after he experienced an inexplicable craving for the non-meat options on the menu, Spock was supposedly too absorbed in his own menu to notice. Jim was amused to see this playful side of Spock, even if his seriousness shone through on the surface.

He soon relaxed into the rapport of their conversations, which were often filled with amusing anecdotes and recollections from their missions. He had missed this simple contact, the little events worth living for. However, the night was about to take an unexpected turn.

"We need to find you a woman, Scotty," Sulu sighed, after a particularly long lecture about one aspect of the _Enterprise_ from the overenthusiastic engineer. "Give you something else to talk about."

"She's the only woman I can handle right now Sulu, and a temperamental one at that." Scotty assured Sulu with his thick Scottish brogue, taking another swig from his scotch. "But thanks for the offer, at any rate."

"In fact, we have a pretty abysmal dating record at this table," Sulu continued, undeterred. "Despite all our collective good looks and charms, only McCoy and Nyota are in anything serious, as far as I know!" He hopefully glanced around at the sudden silence, but nobody took the bait immediately.

"Then you are not in full possession of the facts, Mr. Sulu," Spock spoke, shocking everyone at the table with his forwardness. "You assume that private or previously undisclosed relationships are not in effect. That can be the case in your society, am I correct?"

Jim winced. 'In your society' made him sound positively Martian.

Sulu was almost lost for words. "Yes, I suppose- anyone got something to confess, then? A little round of Truth or Truth." He laughed, obviously not expecting anyone to take his offer seriously. But it was the perfect opening...

_Are you sure you're ready for this, Spock?_ Jim asked, trying to remain intensely interested in picking invisible lint off his sleeve. _We don't have to, you know._

_You are the one who said you are not ashamed, Jim. Neither am I, and we will face the consequences with our dignity intact,_ Spock replied with complete conviction. _It is now your decision; you may tell them at your discretion._

"Shit," McCoy barked suddenly, making Jim jump in his seat. "You're doing it again! I knew it, Jim."

"Bones?" Jim said in serious confusion.

"On the shuttle, and now _here_- I may not be psychic, but I wasn't born yesterday." His eyes flickered from Jim's gaze to Spock's face, which was impassive.

"Oh." Jim couldn't think of anything else to say. Bones was perceptive, and they hadn't exactly kept their conversation sly. He was going to jump to conclusions- the right ones, certainly, but Jim felt that it was his duty to pre-empt them and be completely forthcoming. After all, these were his Officers; anything that affected the Bridge was their problem.

_Here it goes._

"What's going on?" Chekov said from his corner, oblivious to the thoughts running through everyone's minds. "Sulu?"

Sulu looked just as puzzled as Chekov. "We're missing something here." He murmured to the young Russian.

Jim got their attention with a slight cough, building up his courage. "This may come as a shock to you all but... I... we..."

"As of yesterday, the Captain and I are in a romantic relationship." Spock saved Jim from his stuttering, cutting in with a calm and measured explanation.

There was a moment of astonished silence with every expression freezing in place, then everyone erupted when they realised that it was not an unusually humorous moment from their First Officer, and was in fact stated in all seriousness.

Uhura choked on her drink, spluttering until Bones thumped her on the back a few times. It was strangely gratifying to know that he could still surprise the cool and collected Communications Officer. "You? And _Jim_?"

"Yes," Spock said simply. Jim noted that his expression had softened slightly, but he was sure that no one else would have noticed the subtle difference. "You are the first to be informed."

"I knew it, I _knew_ it," Bones was repeating. "I _wasn't_ imagining things..."

Chekov was looking at them both like he was tracking the flight of a tennis ball, his head snapping back and forth with an expression of bewilderment on his pale face.

"You- well- I mean, it makes _sense_, but- really?" Scotty trailed off, going slightly vague in his shock. His hand was trembling when he reached for a bracing shot of scotch.

Jim caught Spock's eye, and sent him a mental reassurance. Surreptitiously, Spock slid his hand under the table and brushed his fingers ever so slightly against Jim's, a sign of support and certainty. It also seemed to tingle pleasantly.

"A toast, then!" Uhura laughed, flicking her hair back from her face after her choking fit had subsided and most of the group had recovered. "To Jim and Spock!"

"Jim and Spock!" The table cried as one, from baritone to soprano and with a jumble of accents, before sipping their respective drinks. The bar closed soon after the toast, with everyone offering nothing but their best wishes and congratulations, along with slaps on the back for Jim and the occasional tentative pat for Spock, who seemed amused by the entire spectacle.

They walked back together, and Jim marvelled at the crispness of the chilly air and the way the heavens above them seemed to go on forever. He may spend the majority of his life in space, but it always looked amazing from his home planet. The wind barely rustled the trees, but it was enough to make Jim shiver. Spock moved closer instinctively, and their arms were soon linked as they strolled away.

_That went well,_ Jim thought wryly. _Thanks for the save._

_You seemed to be faltering,_ Spock replied. _It was all I could do._

_And you'll always be there to pick me up again, right Spock?_

_Always, Jim. Always._

And Jim knew it to be true; no matter what came their way, what horrors they faced in the deepest straits of space, there would be at least one companion to hold them back from the remote darkness. Someone to rely on, care for, share with, express every dream and desire with in the knowledge that they were always in their adventures together. That was enough to sustain a man for eternity and a day, and Jim had a renewed feeling of how rare their bond was. Of all the billions upon billions of life forms in the wide universe, they had found each other... and they would remain together for all of time.

Content with that, they walked the rest of the way in near silence, only hearing the thrum of their thoughts and the beating of their hearts as evidence of their love.

_Finis_


End file.
